Cold Turkey
by OddKitty
Summary: After one too many incidences caused by his magic, Merlin is going cold turkey. No More Magic. And his magic isn't happy about it. Let's just say hijinks ensue. Currently NOT Slash but with a possible view to it later on Arthur X Merlin . Set around Season 3. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

It had started with the bath water. Okay, so it might have been a _tad_ hot; it wasn't news worthy, it hadn't hurt anyone. Well, it had hurt Arthur, but that didn't count for anything, now did it?

But then there was the incident with the chain mail that had corroded when Merlin forgot to stop cleaning it by magic, having fallen asleep. He'd been put in the stocks for a week for being "an inconceivably incompetent servant".

Of course, that wasn't the worst of it. There was that time at the ball the following week where he _might_ have accidentally _on purpose_ set the visiting Lord's daughter's dress on fire. He hadn't known it would be so flammable! Luckily the only thing that insufferable wench had suffered was a little bit of embarrassment, when her undergarments were exposed.

Merlin hadn't even got in trouble for it. But _he_ knew, Gaius suspected, Arthur was (quietly) relieved at the distraction and Morgana just found it plain funny. He couldn't help himself, though. That wench had been sitting next to Arthur and would have been in his lap if the chair had allowed for it, flirting shamelessly with him, rubbing her ample bosom up against his arm and she'd smacked Merlin in the face with her hair as she flicked it over her shoulder on several occasions. He'd been pouring Arthur's wine at the time and he was sure she'd done it on purpose, so he wasn't as sorry about the incident as he probably should have been.

It didn't end there though. A long string of seemingly harmless or mildly dangerous incidents littered the last few months alarmingly. From silly, somewhat harmful accidents (mostly to himself) and too many near misses that had him sighing in relief at the inattentiveness of the guards to one extremely serious run-in that he'd been sure would have seen him dead by a group of bandits that had happened upon him while he'd been 'gathering herbs'.

There wasn't any particular event that caused it; it was just the sudden realisation that the magic was the cause of all his recent troubles. He remembered back to when he first moved here. His fight with Arthur in the market, Gwen's father, Nimueh, the more recent incident with that woman in the forest with the smoke. He was even beginning to believe Uther's hated rhetoric about the evil of magic. That more than anything made up his mind.

Finally Merlin would truly heed Gaius' many warnings. He'd do the sensible thing, the safe thing, the thing that wouldn't get him killed. He'd have to stop. No more magic.

It was a heavy ultimatum and one he didn't take to greatly; it was like he'd be denying a part of himself and the thought made him uneasy, but it had reached a point where someone had almost gone to the executioner's block in his stead. He couldn't let that happen.

So this was it. The last day where he recklessly used his magic.

The next day dawned and it was the first thought that sprang to mind - no more magic.

With a muted grunt, Merlin pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing tiredly at his face with his shirt sleeve. The feeble light filtering through the tiny grated window let him know it was not yet dawn and the cool draft warned him to wear an extra shirt today. It was nearing winter, which meant that Arthur was getting in as much hunting as he could before the court would be confined to the indoors for the worst of the weather. Merlin couldn't wait till that happened. At least then he'd no longer have to lug all of the Prince's weaponry and prizes around a muddy forest for much longer.

Then again, knowing Arthur, he'd find some equally wearying task for him to complete indoors, lord knew there were plenty of those around.

The faint sounds of movement within the courtyard filtered in from outside; the sleepy movements of servants going about their chores, stall-keepers setting up for the long day ahead, the braying of the pack mules. Well, he was awake, people were already moving about and it was a new day. Merlin pulled his trousers on while remaining seated on the edge of the bed, falling onto his back and squirming his hips to pull them up. He rubbed at his face and stared up at the ceiling, idly noticing all the spider webs that draped the corners. With a yawn he pulled himself back into a sitting position and slipped into his boots, lethargically buckling the straps before standing, snagging a clean shirt from the pile in the corner and discarding his night-shirt to its proper place - the floor.

For a change, Gaius was still sleeping, snoring like a rock giant on his cot. Merlin grinned lopsidedly and let the man sleep, picking up an apple from the cluttered table as he passed. Shutting the door gently behind him, he made his way across the courtyard, quietly enjoying the brisk morning air and the crunchy apple, greeting those he passed with a congenial nod.

His first trip was to the kitchens, where after finishing his apple and flirting with the sleepy cook, made his way through a warm bowl of honey sweetened porridge. Once he was done, he picked up breakfast for his master and made his way to his chambers.

It was when he'd reached the door that it even crossed his mind that he'd managed the path without tripping, dropping the food or taking a wrong turn. He let the realisation sit for a moment, his hand held on the door handle, briefly, before he quietly pushed it open and set up the breakfast on the table.

He could see Arthur's slumbering figure from a gap between the curtains and tried his best not to wake him. Lord knows Arthur was a grump enough in the mornings without further encouragement.

The chill of the flagstones wormed its way up through Merlin's thin, worn out boots, sending a chill up his spine.

"A fire," Merlin murmured beneath his breath and stirred up the still glowing embers with the poker and heaped on a few more logs to coax the fire to build and bare its warmth. Lucky Prat. He didn't have a fireplace in his room; had to solely rely on the feeble protection of his blankets, which were just as threadbare as his clothes. Right now it was enough but he could see himself in a months time joining Gaius in the main room where at least there would be a fire.

Once done, Merlin dusted his hands off on his pants and moved the food from the table to the much smaller one closer to the fire to keep it warm then went about drawing the curtains. The sun was finally making its appearance, gilding the hills with a soft golden light and turning the sky pink. Today there were no great clouds to spoil the view and there was something, crisp, fresh and new about the morning that had Merlin breathing in contentedly.

The sound of sheets rustling drew his attention as Arthur slid to the edge of his bed, spreading the curtain's wide, then wincing when the morning light hit his unaccustomed eyes.

"Merlin?" Arthur yelped in shock. Merlin smiled and turned to face Arthur, looking on him almost fondly in his rumpled state.

"Good Morning, Sire," he greeted before he made his way to the table and poured water for the Prince.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked thickly, his voice roughened by sleep and incredulity.

"Sire?"

"What are you doing _awake?" _

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. "I brought your breakfast."

Arthur eyed him suspiciously, giving him a wide berth as he approached the table, looking at Merlin askance as he took his seat. Merlin held in a chuckle of amusement. Who knew that simply turning up on time could unsettle the Prince?

Arthur poked at his food with the fork apprehensively before taking a cautious bite. Not only was it still warm but it was also fresh, something that he'd only experienced on occasions when another servant had to cover Merlin's duties. Encouraged, Arthur began to wolf his meal down and left his questions till he was well full.

Once he was finished, he wiped his mouth on the napkin and threw it atop the scraps on his plate, folded his arms over his stomach and turned to glare at Merlin who was currently fluffing his pillows and straightening the sheets.

"Okay, spit it out, what are you planning?" Arthur demanded. Merlin stopped what he was doing and favoured the monarch with a raised brow.

"I'm not planning anything, Sire?" Merlin half-asked, looking around uncertainly, wondering whether he was supposed to have been planning something.

"And why do you keep calling me Sire?" Arthur's voice was slightly raised this time and he was still eyeing Merlin like he'd produce a knife and run him through if he didn't watch out.

"Because so far today you haven't merited me calling you a prat," Merlin answered with a grin. "Yet," he added after a moments pause. Arthur scowled and ignored him. Instead he rose to his feet and began stripping from his night-clothes, discarding them on the floor as he moved towards the screen and the clothes that Merlin had set out for him.

"Are you sure you're feeling well, Merlin?" Arthur asked, his voice muffled from behind the screen.

"I feel fine, Arthur. Is it so strange for me to be up this early?"

Arthur poked his head out from behind the screen, the red shirt bunched up around his neck. "You did not just ask that, did you? Honestly, Merlin, I don't think you've ever been on time in your life."

Arthur pulled back behind the screen a moment before appearing fully dressed in his long sleeved red shirt, his heavy woollen brown pants, carrying a pair of fur-lined black boots in his hands. They were a worn, scuffed pair that was fading to a soft brown along the creases and they were his favourite pair for this sort of weather.

Merlin had picked up the strewn about clothes and was depositing them in the linen basket to take to the laundry later on when he appeared. Merlin was always somewhat surprised whenever he saw Arthur for the first time each day. He carried his self-confidence and pride like an invisible cloak; you could have dressed him up in rags and he'd still look regal. It was breath-stopping and also humbling to think that he served such a man, was maybe even friends with him.

Arthur sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled on his boots over stockinged feet and stood, hands on hips. "Guess what we're doing today, Merlin," he said.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the prince but played along. "Are we going hunting, Arthur?"

"Ooh, sharp _and _awake. Are you_ certain_ that you're feeling well today?" Arthur teased.

"I suppose that remains to be seen. I'll go get the equipment together...Unless there's anything else you need?"

"Not right now. Off you go, Merlin, I want to be out of here before midday."

"Of course," Merlin left the room without so much as a by-your-leave. It wouldn't be good if Arthur got too used to deferential treatment.

* * *

The hunt went...well. By the end, the knights and their Prince were looking at Merlin with equal measures of suspicion; he hadn't tripped, stumbled, frightened the game or accidently hit Arthur in the face with his crossbow or anything! Some were quite disappointed. Watching the interaction between Arthur and his manservant was a sport in itself and infinitely entertaining.

They brought down a stag that day, plus three hares and a fox and were back in Camelot as the sun drifted below the horizon, dropping the world into the indigo's and soft tones of twilight. Merlin was in good spirits even though he was laden down with the smaller game while his mare carried the stag strung over its back and his mood was contagious. The knights laughed and joked with one another and Galahad even helped Merlin take the food to the stores, which had Merlin looking at him strangely though he was grateful all the same.

Of course, the day didn't end there. Arthur was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the sky to come crashing down, or the paintings to start bleeding from their eyes because - inconceivable as it was - Merlin was being, dare he say it, almost _helpful_. That moment never came. After an uneventful dinner where he did not have food spilled in his lap or his head hit by the wine pitcher when Merlin poured his drinks, he went to bed unsettled.

Merlin was still buoyed up by the relative success of the day. He hadn't thought that he'd have been able to handle all the chores that Arthur normally landed him with, but things just sort of...fell into place. He even had the energy to help Gaius perform a late-night birth in the lower village. Sitting downstairs and sharing a warm tankard of mulled wine, Merlin proudly related the success of his day.

"...It's been unbelievable. Nothing went wrong. Things went so smoothly you would have thought it was magic, but that's the thing! I haven't used any since last night, not at all," Merlin announced enthusiastically.

Gaius raised a weary eyebrow and glared balefully at the still jubilant boy. "I think you've had enough wine, Merlin."

Merlin was momentarily affronted but just grinned and retired to his room to give his guardian some peace. He pulled one of the random medical texts that Gaius had stored in his room and climbed into bed, using the feeble light of the candle by his bedside to read the words. He wasn't necessarily interested but he wasn't quite ready for bed, though must have fallen asleep at some point.

The next thing he knew was waking with the candle a lumpy pool in its dish and the book on his chest, some of the pages crumpled.

He practically sprang from the bed, his day starting fresh and new and so vibrant that Merlin felt like singing or dancing or playing with the town children. He had to rein in his enthusiasm though and go about his duties.

Merlin looked to the small patch of sky he could see from his window and stopped, somewhat worried. There were still stars hovering determinedly in the sky, their light feeble and waning. There was a silence about the whole castle that haunted the wee hours like this. Cautiously he crept from his room and through Gaius' workspace then made his way to the stables.

Not wanting to wake the stable boy, he occupied himself with doing a few quiet tasks, mending the tack and oiling the leathers. It had him busy till the first cock-crow when he moved on to the larger tasks. He changed the water in the troughs and found fresh bags of oats for the horses. A part of him could sense the curious eyes of the stable boy whose head barely peaked over the hayloft but he paid him little mind, humming quietly under his breath as he first mucked out the stables before taking a quick wash, then went back to brush down the horses, paying particular attention to Arthur's stallion, Caesar, who he'd come to an understanding with. At first the two hadn't got on at all. Caesar would tread on his feet as he went about saddling him, flick him with his tail and bite harshly at fingers that got in close enough range. He'd swallow air so the saddle would not be fitted correctly for his Master to ride (therefore landing Merlin in hot water) and Caesar had always managed to shit right where Merlin would walk or urinate as Merlin was grooming him, splashing piss on his boots.

Merlin had taken to bribing Caesar with carrots, oats, molasses and the occasional apple and it had all helped to sort out their relationship. It did mean extra groomings for the proud animal and the other horses did sometimes get jealous. Merlin was only glad that his own mount understood him; Persephone was an even tempered mare, very understanding and very forgiving as well as patient. He'd been a terrible rider when he first started, but Arthur had wisely picked a more mature horse to carry him. He was grateful, truly that that was the case; Arthur wasn't always a prat and little things like that proved it.

Though he was sort-of-almost friends with Caesar they still had one line that Merlin wouldn't cross - he didn't ride him, Caesar didn't bite him. The only exception was if Merlin rode pillion to the Prince and that had only happened but rarely and Caesar had behaved well enough in the presence of Arthur but had nipped Merlin's hand (though only warningly) to remind him that it wasn't to become habit.

That was fine with Merlin. Caesar was a giant. At the moment, Caesar was lipping his hair almost affectionately as he ran the brush down his powerful neck. Merlin laughed as the whiskers tickled his ear and gently rubbed Caesar's nose, ready to pull away if needed.

But even Caesar was co-operating today and Merlin was inwardly labelling it as a good sign for the day. He spent a half hour fawning over his own horse before he made his way to the kitchen, washing off in a nearby storm barrel, the water icy and refreshing, turning his cheeks a rosy pink.

Merlin didn't bother too much with pleasantries this time, just gave a polite nod to the kitchen staff then made his way quickly to Arthur's bedchambers. He'd dallied a little longer at the stable than he'd intended to and didn't want to incur Arthur's ire after the pleasant day he'd enjoyed yesterday.

He pushed open the door almost at the same moment that Arthur threw open his curtains, mid yawn and they both stared at one another, Merlin from the doorway and Arthur from his place on the edge of his bed. Arthur's eyebrows shot up into his messy golden locks and he made a show of rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

"And I thought yesterday was a fluke," the Prince commented dryly. Merlin shook himself and just offered up a harmless little smile before placing the tray of food on the table.

"Miracles do happen," Merlin muttered sagely.

But it wasn't a fluke. Miracle yes, fluke no. Every morning that week, Arthur woke to find his breakfast waiting, a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace and his clothes for the day laid out near the screen with a set of polished boots by the end of his bed. Sometimes Merlin was there and sometimes it was just a note explaining where he'd run off to. It was getting more and more difficult for Arthur to assign any daily tasks to Merlin since he seemed to have already done the chores before Arthur knew they needed doing. A lot of their conversations ran like,

"I need you to mend my boots-"

"Already done, Sire,"

"Er. right...my armour-"

"Polished this morning."

"My dogs?"

"In the exercise yard. I'll be down shortly to put them back in the kennel, but Galahad's squire is keeping an eye on them for the time being."

"Right, well, yes...good..."

"Anything else, Sire?"

"Well, you only cleaned my chambers yesterday, so I can't exactly make you do that. Um...You can help me with training today."

"Do I have to?"

"Of course!"

Of course. Arthur should have somehow known better. Merlin wasn't acting any stranger than normal. In fact, his performance in his duties was improving with alarming rapidity and that in itself should have been a give away. They'd practised alone together and things were headed as they normally did when Merlin was suddenly dodging hits, slithering out of the way like a seasoned professional instead of the bumbling servant he had been up until a few days ago. He even dared a couple of tentative strikes that Arthur easily deflected but was still amazed at. And. He. Just. Wouldn't. Stop. They'd been at it for 2 hours and Arthur was weary on his feet, but Merlin was still bouncing around, maybe not eager, but still excited about not being knocked to the ground for a change.

Arthur reasoned that maybe Merlin was in love; he seemed to get on famously with a lot of the people here, especially the serving girls and the kitchen staff so it wouldn't have been a surprise. When Arthur questioned him about it, Merlin had looked at him like he was barmy and just shook his head, amusement glinting in his eyes and that smile nearly tearing his face in two. Altogether Merlin had been too energetic and too...happy to be normal.

Without any serious problems, incidents or complaints, there really wasn't much that he could do about the situation but Arthur tried to just wait out the whirlwind that Merlin had become. Everyone else seemed to dismiss his even more unique behaviour, passing it off as youth, an eagerness to please or Merlin simply "growing out of his puppy stage". Arthur remained worried for his friend and manservant.

It was another four days before anyone else seemed to become concerned for Merlin.

They were at a banquet to celebrate the arrival of the nobles to court for the winter and the warm mead was flowing freely, people were feeling festive and the weather outside was positively miserable. The wind shrieked through gaps in shutters and wove its sneaky way beneath the layers of clothing and swept down certain corridors with a howl, tugging at the hems of cloaks, coats and dresses. The days were shorter and crops were slowly starting to freeze.

The main formalities were well over and done with and right now everyone was sharing a cup of congeniality and combined body heat, but it didn't touch Arthur. His attention was firmly fixed on his manservant who was standing sentinel with a pitcher of mulled wine in hand, a pleasantly blank expression adorning his face.

"Sire, I must have a word with you." Arthur jumped and quickly looked over his shoulder, surprised by Gaius' sudden appearance.

He waited till his heart sank back into his ribcage, treating Gaius - friend though he was - with an indignant glare. "Can it wait?"

"I'm afraid it is a matter of quite some urgency," Gaius replied solemnly. Arthur took one last glance around the room. _Around _the room, mind you. He was _not _focusing on one particular corner, where one certain servant stood. He gestured with a nod for Gaius to follow and stepped out of the Great Hall and into a small antechamber to the right of the door. Once settled in, Arthur turned to Gaius, his arms crossed against his chest.

"It's about Merlin, Sire. I'm beginning to worry about him," Gaius said. Arthur's ears pricked at the name and suddenly all his attention was on the old physician.

"What _about_ Merlin?"

Gaius looked off to the side uncertainly before continuing. "He doesn't...sleep in your chambers does he?"

The question was unexpected and Arthur reeled suddenly from the abruptness of it. "No, of course not. What makes you ask?"

"I was hoping that you'd have told me otherwise," Gaius responded wryly with a humourless chuckle. "I'm sure you've noticed that Merlin has been quite...punctual of late. Initially I thought he was just getting a good night's rest and was able to pull himself from bed early but lately he's been staying up late, poring over manuscripts or cleaning or doing small chores, like mending tack. At first I was suspicious of the behaviour, but saw nothing sinister in it. Merlin has been in such a good mood of late."

Arthur huffed. He'd been like a child at a festival this whole last fortnight, it had almost become insufferable.

"Then I noticed that his room is spotless, his bed is made and it_ hasn't been slept in. _Not once in the last three days." Arthur's eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe. This was a new development. However, Gaius was not finished.

"I also haven't seen him eat much and yet he's still burning with energy." Arthur let his gaze wander to a tapestry to the left of Gaius' head and mulled over these new revelations.

"I'll confront him about it," he said aloud. He didn't miss the instant rush of relief that overcame Gaius and a part of him, a selfish part that he'd rather deny existed, was envious of the relationship between the two. His father rarely showed that kind of concern for him.

"Thank you, Sire, if you would excuse me," Gaius bowed then left, heading in the direction of his quarters, Arthur followed him out into the hall but instead returned to the great hall. He waited until Merlin looked up and he gestured to him to follow him, mouthing, "My chamber. Now." Merlin nodded his understanding and passed his pitcher to a servant that wandered by.

Arthur stalked off without waiting for Merlin to catch up with him. Before he'd even reached the door, he was untying his cloak only to dump it on the nearest chair, pulling his shirt free and loosening the string at the front.

He turned as he heard the soft click of the door snapping shut. Merlin stood, looking uncertain and wary and seemed to be vibrating on the spot. Arthur stalked closer to him and examined him closely, noting the heavy black bruises beneath his bloodshot eyes and the pallid turn to his already pale complexion. Merlin's lips were dry and chapped, though his clothes were unusually smoothed and smelled of fresh soap, something that Merlin normally didn't have the time or luxury to allow for.

"Merlin, take a seat," Arthur ordered sternly before he turned and collapsed into his own. Like a startled animal, Merlin slowly made his way over, and sank in to the chair in a manner that suggested he thought it would bite him if he made any sudden moves.

"What's up, Arthur?" Merlin asked casually, that sweet smile plastered on his face, but it was tense at the edges. His eyes darted to and fro and his knees bounced in an endless rhythm as his hands twitched compulsively in his lap. On noticing the target of Arthur's stare, Merlin tucked his hand's beneath his thighs and sat in silence, waiting for Arthur to get whatever it was off his chest.

"Gaius tells me you haven't been sleeping," Arthur stated. Merlin's eyes slid off to the side, refusing to meet Arthur's as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it's not like I'm tired or anything. There's just so much stuff to do and there really aren't enough hours in the day and did you know there are 27 bones in the human hand? I read it in this anatomy book that Gaius has only I don't think that anyone could know without actually you know cutting someone's hands open and it made me think what else scientist's study and there are some really disturbing manual's in Gaius office I know for a fact that I wouldn't want to be a surgeon or a scientist I just couldn't possibly do that you know? Cutting open people to see what they're made of-"

"Merlin."

"-then there's animals too! I know you like hunting but I just couldn't imagine doing that to an animal, ever, turned me off eating meat, that did but I-"

"Merlin..."

"-started chatting to the night cook and he showed me how to prepare the hares that we caught andInearlythrewuponhimbuttha tmanisaculinarygeniusthat-"

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, lurching forward in his chair. Merlin stopped. "Breathe, Merlin, just breathe."

He eyed Arthur strangely before sucking in a breath slowly, his face returning to a more normal colour. The room soaked up the sudden quiet and Arthur passed a relieved hand over his brow.

"I'm going to make this extremely simple, Merlin. I will ask a yes or no question and you will answer it. That's not too difficult is it? Just nod or shake your head. No talking!" Arthur cautioned.

Merlin nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes wide, like a deer caught in a hunter's sight.

"Have you been sleeping, Merlin?" A shake of the head.

"Have you eaten in the last 12 hours?" Another negative.

"Have you eaten at all today?" A pause, then another head-shake.

"Are you feeling well?" A nod. It was Arthur's turn to pause. He stared at Merlin till the boy looked away, his feet continued to bounce, up and down, faster and faster. Arthur reached out a steadying hand and placed it firmly on Merlin's knee.

"Merlin, I'm ordering you to take the next three days off. I am ordering you to get some sleep, eat a proper meal and take a god forsaken rest. You look exhausted, you're worrying Gaius and you aren't any good to me in this state. I'll write a note for Gaius instructing him to make a sleeping potion for you if he sees fit. If I hear you've been doing any work, for me, for Gaius, or for some random villager, I won't hesitate to put you in the cells, am I understood?"

Merlin's face turned from startled rabbit to raging storm through the duration of Arthur's ultimatum till he was glaring fiercely at his prince.

"I told you, I'm fine," he argued.

Arthur stood and swiftly dragged Merlin to his feet, ignoring his cries of protest as he stood him in front of the mirror, one hand firmly gripping him by the nape of the neck, the other secured tightly around his upper arm.

"Look at yourself, Merlin! You're moments away from collapse, you're shivering constantly, your eyes are bloodshot and skin is paler than normal and you're acting stranger than usual! Stop denying it! Go! Get some sleep, for heaven's sake!"

Merlin's reflection looked shell-shocked. A fragile, pale hand came up to trace the bruises beneath his eyes and he stared, wide eyed like he'd never seen himself before. Absently he nodded his head in agreement, his eyes haunted and unblinking.

Arthur quickly scrawled the note to Gaius and sent Merlin on his way. Hoping that this, at least would return his servant to as close a proximity to normal that Merlin ever got.

* * *

What was going wrong? Things had started off so well, they'd continued to run smoothly and Merlin was feeling for the first time in his life his own worth beyond the stigma of being 'gifted' with a magic he couldn't share. He'd really thought he'd been doing good but the glimpse of that haggard stranger in the mirror was frightening. He'd been unrecognisable to himself and he was scared. Beyond scared. Suddenly it felt like there was a presence at his back, a hostile ghost or a shade or maybe it was Death. Whatever it was, it had him practically running back home and right to Gaius with the note.

His guardian read it through quietly before producing a bottle from his robes. "I was going to suggest this to you myself," Gaius murmured, his tone warm, familial. Merlin smiled gratefully but said nothing, just accepted the tonic, which he downed the moment he stepped into his room. He crashed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Right now...all he wanted, was his mother. She'd know exactly how to help him. It didn't matter that it was an illogical thought; like any time he'd ever been sick, she was the one he wanted most. The only one who made him feel like things would work out.

Slowly his eyes drifted shut, even as his consciousness fought the potion's affects. In the end, the potion won.

And that's when the fun truly began.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Edited 8/1/13.

* * *

At first it wasn't particularly noticeable. Things were suddenly misplaced. Nothing big; trinkets, cutlery, spools of wool, jewellery, flints, small tools, odds and ends. All of them later found in odd places, like the owner had picked it up, become distracted and laid it down elsewhere. Gaius had great difficulty trying to find _anything_ where he'd left it and he could hear his neighbours complaining as he walked through the streets to the castle as he made a delivery.

As he neared his home upon his return, the streets seemed alive with chatter, accusations of theft, suspicion and amusement. Gaius' eyebrow was quirked in an almost permanent state of enquiry and he nearly tripped as he followed a particularly vehement argument over near the bread stall. Shaking his head, he pushed open the front door and nearly dropped his physician's bag.

With a speed belying his age, Gaius swooped inside and pressed himself up against the door as it firmly shut behind him, staring in wonderment at what _had _been his lab when he'd left it a half hour ago. Now it resembled little more than a jungle. From assorted jars of dried plants now sprouted living, flourishing flora, permeating the room with a multitude of exotic fragrances that were both heady and cloying. Beakers, flasks, test tubes and apparatus had seemingly twisted themselves into ornate spirals and organic blobs, gleaming like jewels among the foliage and the insects that were pinned to specimen boards fluttered their wings irately, trying to free themselves from their anchoring. Sheaves of paper fluttered across the flagstone floor, buffeted by a breeze that had no source, nor direction and the light seemed to catch oddly on the surfaces as if it were a live thing, gilding here, glittering there and reflecting effervescently off the water inside the mop bucket that had been carelessly left where someone might trip.

Cautiously Gaius approached the bench, jaw slack and gaping in disbelief. "What in heaven's name...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off as he caught sight of one of his books laid open on the bench top. It was a manual on the beasts of the realm and within the pages they prowled, stalked, preened and preyed. He had to grip the bench as his knees weakened beneath him before he decisively moved to the door and barred it shut. He couldn't afford to have anyone walk in at this moment; there was simply no way that he could possibly explain this to anyone and he did not delight in testing that theory.

With the sturdy wooden bar firmly in place he turned around and with a steadying of his nerves and the clearing of his throat, he set off towards Merlin's room where he'd not ventured into since the night before.

Merlin had been under the affects of the potion for a little over twelve hours. Gaius had made a potent mix of sleeping draught and dream suppressant and he'd expected Merlin to sleep maybe ten hours, but had allowed him to continue to rest after seeing how exhausted he'd appeared, now that he was frozen in respite.

He peered in now, not bothering to knock; the situation was too urgent for such niceties. The room was a shambles. It seemed every item of clothing that Merlin owned was splayed about the floor - not that that equated to much, really. But joined with all the odds bobs that had inhabited the room since its original purpose as a storeroom and the collection of little knick-knacks, scrolls and books that had accumulated since made it a living, breathing maze. The objects writhed on the floor like insects crawling through leafy undergrowth, undulating to a rhythm all its own that Gaius could not gauge nor comprehend.

In the midst of it all was Merlin, looking serene and untouchable as he lay, stretched out on top of his sheets, his plain woollen shirt loose at the neck and riding up his abdomen. His hands were limp by his side, his brow untroubled by worry and a slight golden haze hovered over him like a mist. A mist that swirled and eddied around him with each steady rise and fall of his chest. Pinpricks of light, like miniscule stars danced within the haze, growing, glowing brightly then bursting and dying only to be replaced by another tiny spark.

It was a stunning sight; unlike anything Gaius had seen in all his many years and he had seen quite a lot where magic was concerned, though mostly during his youth. He hesitated in drawing near; his gut was telling him not to get too close but his curiosity urged him forward.

"Merlin?" He called in his gruff voice. The boy didn't bat so much as an eyelash. "Merlin," Gaius repeated, louder this time, taking another cautious step closer to where Merlin lay, inert. The mist surrounding him reared up as he approached. A translucent tendril separated from the main group and came towards Gaius. He lurched back and stopped, breath caught in his chest, heart hammering against his ribcage. The little tentacle halted at his movement then progressed towards him. Gaius held still, held his breath and tried not to panic. The golden light touched him, tentatively running along his arm, tracing his torso with a touch that wasn't so much felt as it was sensed.

It was like standing in a ray of hot sun during a freezing cold day. It _felt_ playful, questing, cheerful. Wherever it touched, the patterns on his robe morphed into something more intricate. Instead of the geometric patterns, curlicues, celtic knots and fern-like curls grew and raced behind the path of the magic. That was only thing it could be; magic. Merlin's magic, unrestrained by consciousness, running chaotic and free. Now Gaius understood what Merlin meant when he claimed that the mess in his room 'just happens'. The magnitude alone spoke wealth's about Merlin's normal level of control, even during sleep. It made him pause for a moment. Maybe this was the reason that Merlin had trouble waking early normally, maybe a part of him was always conscious and keeping himself in check so that the magic was never left unrestrained. Then again, knowing Merlin, that was just as likely as it wasn't.

Looking around, Gaius picked up a small book that slithered over his shoe and with a small amount of force threw it at Merlin's head. It hit with a resounding _thock!_ and Gaius snorted in surprised laughter. He had thought for some reason that the magic would somehow prevent it from hitting him. Merlin's head rocked to the side at the impact and a triangular red spot began to bloom at the centre of his forehead but the boy himself barely even stirred.

Retreating back to his workspace, he picked up the bucket from the middle of the floor and held it above Merlin. Slowly he began tipping it over him. Merlin reared out of bed with an almighty gasp, his eyes wide and from edge-to-edge they were like molten gold orbs, his face dripping with water. The mist that had surrounded his body started pouring, as if being sucked up into his eyes until no wayward light was visible. Then as the final light disappeared Merlin's breath stopped, his eyes turned to their normal blue before rolling back into his head and he collapsed against his bed, still and unmoving except for his eyelids fluttering and his eyes moving frantically beneath his quivering lashes.

Gaius returned to his workroom once again, carrying the broom with him back to Merlin's bedroom. He reversed his grip so that he held the broom by the bristles and poked Merlin with the end sharply, before stepping back warily. Merlin moaned in protest and rolled onto his side. Gaius supposed this was a good sign. Indeed when he had finally gathered the bucket and broom and shut the door to Merlin's room on the way out, his lab was somewhat back to normal. The plants were shrivelling and withdrawing back within their jars, the insects had ceased their angry fluttering though his beakers, test tubes and glassware had definitely seen better days; they refused to return to their original shape. Gaius sent a look towards Merlin's room and took another appreciative glance around his work area as even the loose sheaves of paper formed a neat stack.

He stayed in his quarters an hour after the last object ceased movement, just in case. It would be unwise to assume that the magic was under control until he could wake Merlin from his slumber. Gaius sighed wearily. He was getting too old for this.

He was expected up at the castle for supper - the lord and his daughter would be departing in the morning and Uther had organised a small feast as parting gift. Gaius wasn't particularly fond of going to feasts; he wasn't as young as he once was and the carousing of the knights, the high-pitched whines of the young women and the general frivolity of the occasion always made him feel even older, although he didn't mind the food. It was by far much better fare than he could provide for his and Merlin's own dinners.

Tonight though, he would have preferred to abstain; it had been stressful enough today and with Merlin out of commission, he could now appreciate how much he relied on the boy to gather his herbs, or make deliveries or even as just someone to fill the void. And of course, let's not forget the leech tank. Gaius gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. He took one last parting glance around his rooms before firmly shutting the door and making the short trek to the castle.

As he walked through the halls, he began to notice a certain sense of anxiety among the inhabitants of the castle. Guards fidgeted at doorways and walked hastily along their routes, eyeing the space around them distrustfully. Maids hurried from place to place, keeping together in pairs or in a group where they could, though the knights and guests that walked the halls appeared only curious at the strange behaviour of the denizens of Camelot.

As he rounded a corner he had to quickly brace himself as Gwen ran into him, her face unnaturally pale and her hands shaking with nerves. Gaius steadied Gwen with firm grip to her forearms. She looked up gratefully.

"I'm so sorry Gaius, thank you! I've just been so frantic and it's all been so strange today. Arthur's been on edge since last night and Morgana is being...well, Morgana. The only blessing we've had today is Uther's been on a hunt with Arthur for the most of today." It all came out in a hurried flood and it wasn't till she'd taken a breath that it dawned on her that she was speaking out of turn. Her eyes widened almost comically and she began to stutter. "N-not that we wish that Uther weren't here and-"

"Calm yourself, Gwen. Can you tell me what's been happening?" Gaius asked steadily.

"I-I, it-"

"Gwen!" Morgana's voice rang from further down the hall. Gwen and Gaius looked up and Gwen's shoulder's hunched guiltily. "I need you to attend me." With an apologetic shrug, she turned and made her way towards her mistress.

Gaius watched them head off with momentary apprehension before he continued on his way. He just prayed that there weren't anymore surprises in store.

* * *

Gossip was a staple for the servants of Camelot; they lived it, they breathed it, it made their lives that little bit more enriched. It helped if it was something amusing, but they weren't picky; drama, suspense, danger, battles, torrid love affairs and affiliations, any and all of these kinds of stories were great fare and they were told, retold and embellished. Truths turned to myths, myths to legends and facetious suppositions became truths.

Of course the life of their Royalty, especially their prince and his knights were considered the best fodder and they were often spoken of in hushed conversations or tales told round the fire in the kitchen once they had done serving the formal dinner and had tucked into their own meagre feast.

Today though, there were ghosts in the hall, gremlins in the hangings, fairies in the flower bouquets and pixies in the cupboards. It was all a little exaggerated but Meredith said that Jacob told William that Rowenna heard it from Judith that Penny had seen with her _own eyes_ the Prince's bed make itself. An unfortunate groundskeeper, Seamus, had had a chamber pot's contents dumped on him as he passed that side of the castle. He'd looked up to curse the son of a mule who'd done it and was faced with an empty window and a hovering chamber pot slowly sailing back through the arch. After cleaning himself off, he'd told James his story before going with him down to the inn for a well-earned pint. Neither were seen for the rest of the day.

Gwen had herself seen something of that ilk. After Penny's run-in with the self-making bed, she'd braved Arthur's chambers, quietly deriding Penny's 'vision' beneath her breath. Gwen had opened the door and begun picking up the clothes that had been left discarded on the floor when the shirt slid from beneath her fingers. She looked up and her mouth fell open as it folded itself before flying onto a pile of ever growing laundry. She'd sat stunned, mouth agape and her breath barely disturbing the air in front of her and just watched for a time.

The pile of clothes, once all stacked together moved towards the shut door. Gwen almost expected the door to open and the clothes to continue on its merry way to the laundry room. She laughed weakly when it merely hit the door and collapsed to the floor, lying inert where it fell.

The sound of brush on leather drew her gaze to the fireplace where a line of Arthur's boots sat, some already cleaned and oiled while others were getting brushed off with the wire brush as the others were being rubbed with the oil cloth. Her head turned to the table where the clinking of cutlery alerted her to the breakfast plates piling themselves onto the tray. She watched stunned as a silver goblet fell from the edge of the table and the liquid froze mid-air before reversing back into the cup as it righted itself carefully. And although she didn't run screaming from the room, since that would have meant tripping over the laundry, she sorely wished she could have. Gwen moved as quickly as she could and slammed the door shut in her wake. As soon as she was out of the room she ran, all the way out of the castle to gather herself and some fresh air. But the strangeness seemed to follow. A group of Royal Ostlers were standing around Arthur's stable boy who was wailing and crying as one of them pat him on the shoulder.

As she walked past them, Gwen caught enough of the conversation to understand that the manure had been shovelling itself.

Then when rumours began to filter in from the town of objects going missing, moving themselves and other, more ethereal phenomena, the tension in the castle – and the rumours – grew, as did the sense of worry. It was indeed a blessing that Uther had left early in the day for an unexpected hunting trip.

"Gwen?" Morgana's soft, dulcet voice brought Gwen back to what she was doing. Morgana's reflection stared up at her worriedly from where she sat. In her hand were soft piles of Morgana's hair, her brush run halfway through the silky lengths. "Are you hale?"

"Yes, my lady, forgive me," Gwen responded, she had to shake herself and make a concerted effort to keep to her task. Her gaze kept bouncing around the room, expecting at any moment for the unlit candles to burst into flames or the vase to tip its water out the window, though it remained peaceful, placid in the sanctity of Morgana's chambers. Gwen's hands slowed again as she took a surreptitious look around the room.

"Are you quite sure, Gwen? You seem awfully distracted," Morgana pressed. Her tone was gentle but her piercing eyes were unforgiving.

"It's been a strange day..." Gwen conceded with a nervous chuckle. Morgana's eyebrow's lifted in silent question and Gwen's smile broadened. Though she was loathe to admit it, she loved the gossip as well as any other servant and had done her fair share of truth-stretching or "story-telling" as she put it. "Arthur's room...this morning as Penny was to attend him, his bed made itself, or so she said. Of course, this _is_ Penny and she's not exactly known for her wits. She refused to re-enter the room, so I went in her stead." Gwen paused as she began sliding the pins into Morgana's hair. It was amazing how many were required to construct the elaborate hairstyles that were currently in fashion.

"Yes?" Morgana prompted. Gwen slid another pin into place before continuing.

"Well, I thought that Penny had just been at it- er, I mean, what I meant to say was, I thought that Penny had been telling fibs, but right before my eyes! The shirts began folding themselves, the plates stacked themselves up on the dining tray. Arthur's boots were being scrubbed but by no one and I didn't stay long enough to see what would happen next.

"I went into the town and there's talk of all matter of strange things happening and the servants have been chatting about it all this afternoon. Do you know Marcus? The Falconer? He thinks this place is haunted. But Geoffrey of Monmouth says that this isn't like any ghost he's seen, which is frightening to think that this place might _actually _be haunted."

Guinevere shuddered uncontrollably and put the last finishing touches on Morgana's hair. Morgana stood, sweeping her skirts out behind her.

"Gwen, I want you to spread the word that Uther is not to hear of this, understood?" Morgana ordered. "The moment he catches wind of this, you know he'll be on a witch hunt faster than you can say inquisition and there's been enough bloodshed of late; no need to add innocents to that."

Gwen nodded her understanding. The thought made her shiver. Having personally been at the pointy end of Uther's wrath, she was in no hurry to inflict that kind of misery on someone else. She didn't care if it was magic – and knowing Camelot's track record, it wouldn't be unlikely – and whatever it was, it seemed to be beneficent; it was harming no one. Indeed it was like a fairy story.

Stories about magic were taboo in Camelot – you never knew who was listening and what counted as treason these days, however as a child Gwen's father had often told her stories that involved fairies, gremlins, elves, monsters, demons and magic and she'd been enthralled by them.

The old man Jenkins who was in charge of cleaning the kitchens of a night would tell anyone that would listen that it was a Brownie, a faerie that would reside in a home and do the chores that were left undone. He had the kitchen staff convinced to leave out a bowl of cream and a cake drizzled with honey tonight, so as not to displease the sprite that he may continue to work around the castle. The laundry women thought it was ridiculous, and as they pointed out, Brownies only did work throughout the night, were never seen and their work was impeccable.

They claimed it was more likely a slightly incompetent poltergeist trying to help out. Gwen was dismissive of this idea; it was even less likely than the Brownie story and certainly neither explanation could account for the variety of strange things that had been happening not just in the castle but around the town as well.

For now all she could do was pass on the message to keep the mutterings discreet and hope against hope that no one breathed a word to Uther.

* * *

It had been a change in routine for the King and for Arthur, who hadn't been hunting with his father in many years now. He hadn't wanted him to come, though he didn't say it because, well, he was the king and on top of that his father. It wasn't that he disliked spending time with the man. Indeed, in the past he would have done almost anything to gain the affections and attention from Uther but now was not that time.

His hunting jaunts had taken on a new meaning as he'd begun to go with just his knights and then with Merlin tagging along. It was a chance for him to bond with his men, to forget the pressures of his royal obligations and just be Arthur. With the King tagging along, the easy atmosphere that he'd cultivated with the knights and within himself was stifled, destroyed. He couldn't pal around with them like they so frequently did and there was a formality to the occasion that made him feel like he was at the feast already, carefully walking on eggshells, minding his manners and elevating himself to a point above the 'commoners'.

Everyone was on tenterhooks the entire time and Arthur still could not fathom the reason for Uther's sudden interest, though it may have had something to do with the pomposity of the Lord Vortigern and Uther's own desire to escape pleasantries with the odious man.

Vortigern was a disturbing mix of obsequiousness, cunning and cowardice. His daughter, Enid was possibly even worse; boorish, provincial and self-important and so assured of her own beauty that she felt no need to improve her mind. It was understandable, Arthur supposed but Uther's presence was still not entirely welcome.

However, with the absence of Merlin, the hunt was proceeding quite nicely. They had brought down a couple of foxes and were currently on the trail of a herd of deer. Uther had taken to the hunt avidly and though he may have been ill-used to it at first, his ability with the spear was impressive, his aim true. As the day drew on, they managed to bag a doe and a down of hares before they decided to return, after all there was still a banquet to attend.

They would have been blind, deaf and dumb not to notice the change in the atmosphere. Arthur walked through the streets of the town, his nerves alight with tension. He eyed the townsmen apprehensively as they scurried about. He was used to having to greet each citizen as he passed, though today they were quickly bobbing their heads respectfully before hurrying off elsewhere. It had the same feel as the oppressive and tense wait for the enemy to charge across a battlefield or like a storm building, the electricity alive and heady in the air. And even as he thought it, he noticed the clouds become thicker, the sky turning a gloomy shade of grey. Stalls that normally remained open till later were packed up or packing away; some merchants already having retired for the day and a number of streets were entirely deserted.

"What's going on?" He murmured to himself as he observed the near deserted town. The knights pulled in tighter around the two monarchs as they continued the short distance to the castle. As they dismounted, nervous stablehands came to take their horses and one of the squire boys was sent with the game to the kitchens. As if reflecting the mood of the city, the wind picked up, tugging at cloaks, ruffling hair and scattering hay, bringing with it a pervading coldness as well as the promise of rain.

As the group gained the stairs, rain gently began to patter against the flagstones and they hurried those last few steps till they were safe under the protective eaves of the castle.

"We got back in time, I see," Uther said, running a hand through his hair, removing the raindrops that clung there.

"Indeed we did," Arthur replied as he shook water from his cloak. The knights filed past them, headed to their quarters, leaving the two uncomfortable and alone in each other's company. Silence followed their brief exchange and they each made a study of the stonework in the hall, avoiding one another's gaze.

"Well, that was a great hunt," Arthur offered awkwardly.

"Agreed, a great hunt. You did very well, son," Uther responded, laying a paternal hand on Arthur's shoulder, the gesture stilted and unpractised. Arthur smiled tightly.

"You did well yourself, father," he responded, folding his arms against his chest, his gaze turned to the courtyard where rain continued to fall steadily. "I mean," he continued, looking at his father askance. "For an _old man_."

Uther turned to him with an incredulous stare and Arthur's face broke into a grin at his expression. "Why, you little scamp!" Uther cursed, the smile softening his tone but the punch to Arthur's shoulder was anything but soft. Arthur gave a short chuckle and dashed off, rubbing his shoulder as he ran, leaving his father to trail after him.

As he neared his chambers, Arthur began to notice just how deserted this section of the castle was in comparison to the other areas. It brought back all those childish fears he'd harboured long ago of the dark, of things hidden in shadows, behind the curtains and in the multitude of nooks, crannies, niches, alcoves and anterooms that peppered the halls to the forefront of his mind. He berated himself for allowing his imagination to rule his emotions and steeled himself as he made his way down the - admittedly creepy – hallway. If Arthur's footsteps quickened as he approached his room, he'd be the very last to admit it. Shutting the door behind he took a moment to calm his heartbeat.

"Merlin, I need you to prepare the bath for me," Arthur ordered loudly as he stripped off his cloak. He froze mid-motion and cursed. Of course; he'd given Merlin the next few days off. Arthur swore under his breath and turned to yell down the corridor for a servant. As he did so, he spotted the bath, already full, water steaming and clothes set out on the dresser by the screen.

"Hmph." They must have had someone in to fill the bath when they saw his approach. Arthur would have to find the Steward and praise him for his foresight.

Arthur stripped, casually dropping the clothes on the floor before climbing into the bath. It was a little hot, though with the weather turning foul outside, Arthur was nothing but grateful. He hissed as he slid in then groaned as the hot water began to soften his muscles and the aches and pains that came with whacking through the undergrowth. His head rocked back, pillowed by the small towel that had been placed on the lip of the bath.

Arthur lingered longer in the bath than he'd intended. The Epsom salts had done wonders for his muscles, his skin was scrubbed clean of all the grime and sweat he'd earned from travelling through the forest and the herbal pouch had scented his skin with a mix of rich fragrances had a masculine quality Arthur preferred to the more floral pouches.

In the distance, he heard the town crier announce the hour and with a grumble he stood from the water, grabbing a towel and slinging it around his waist as he stood and climbed over the lip of the bath. Arthur padded barefoot to his dresser and ran the towel quickly over his limbs before running it messily through his hair. He slung the now soaking towel over the screen and pulled his clothing from their place, dressing carefully, though quickly.

He eyed his reflection in the mirror a moment, ran a comb through his hair and carefully set the coronet about his brow. He turned his jaw and examined his features discerningly. "Why you handsome devil," he remarked softly to himself. The sound of a poorly muffled chuckle had him spin around, startled. There was no one immediately visible. His heart beating powerfully in his chest, his eyes pierced the gloom of his bedroom. He even crouched to look under his bed, then checked his wardrobe. He was alone, though he could have sworn that he'd heard someone. Reluctantly he dismissed it as his imagination and shortly left, walking briskly towards the great hall.

It wasn't until he was firmly seated in his position to the right of Uther that the niggling doubt from earlier resurfaced. He could see the room in his mind as he remembered it. The clothes had not been where he'd discarded them. The cloak had not been left over the back over the chair where he'd put it. His filthy boots had been moved out of sight and the dripping path of water from the tub to the changing screen hadn't been there. Arthur shivered involuntarily. Someone _had_ been in that room with him, though he'd not heard him or sensed him in the slightest and he _would have. _He should have. Which lead to a possibility that he did not want to consider.

Arthur turned his gaze to the hall. His father was stood next to him, giving his customary speech. The nobles and guests were watching him pleasantly, unworried. The attending servants and the guards were a different story. Weapons were held tensely in fidgeting hands and pitchers of wine were clutched with white knuckled grips. They all stood rigidly, their eyes darted around the room nervously and as they passed one another a quick word would be exchanged.

Arthur was keenly watching one such exchange as Uther returned to his seat and more servants brought in the first dishes of the feast. He wasn't sure what was going on, and he couldn't make out the conversation from where he sat. But he thought he saw the word "ghost" taint the lips of a passing servant. He shuddered again. Old childhood nightmares resurfaced and he threw a glance at Morgana. Her piercing eyes were watching the feast with a note of suspicion and what almost seemed like anticipation.

As children she had teased him with ghost stories, even telling him that his room was haunted. He'd not been able to sleep in that room for years without some kind of light and he didn't fancy himself doing without it tonight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the simpering Enid, and his lip curled in distaste but he pulled the expression into a tight grin, that more resembled a grimace and distracted himself with inane chatter. He did not want to consider the possibility that he'd been seen bathing by some omnipresent spirit.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Edited: 8/1/13.

* * *

If anyone had been there to notice, they would have seen the violent twitch that entangled Merlin's leg's within his blanket. And if Gaius had thought that his eyes had been moving erratically beneath his eyelids before, it was nothing to how they darted from side to side now. His brow was creased in a frown, sweat beaded on his forehead and he moaned and whimpered as the images began to assail him. Dreams that had been vague and ghostlike and _normal_ slowly dissipated and his sleeping mind was tortured by moments from his life and all the more recent horrors began to unfold to his mind's eye. Little made sense; it was images, sensations, feelings, recollections all mixed in with memories and the impossible imaginings of sleep.

"Arthur..." he murmured, his hands grasping in the sheets and his whole body seemed to twitch. Then suddenly he lurched upright, his eyes wide and unseeing, burning a molten gold that filled them from edge to edge. His hands clenched in the sheets tightly and his teeth bit his lower lip harsh enough that blood welled and then dripped down his chin. He remained stationary, immovable and unaware and the nightmares built and built and seemed to gain clarity, focus...substance.

* * *

Why wouldn't she just _shut up?_ Arthur wasn't even feigning interest now; he gazed indolently around the banquet hall, elbow resting on the table, his chin propped up in his hand. Uther was shooting disapproving glares at him, but Arthur remained unaffected. Enid hadn't even noticed his lack of attention, talking about this dress, that girl that she knew, how much she loved a ball...it was exhausting just listening to her - and her voice! Arthur shuddered involuntarily. Her voice was gratingly high and she was speaking with an affected childlike lilt. What she wanted to accomplish by doing so was beyond him. All he knew was that if he had to suffer her presence for one more night, he'd have to gag her with an apple. Arthur snorted his amusement as he thought of the boar they'd had last night, it's mouth stuffed in a likewise manner. If he squinted, he could almost see a resemblance between the two. Enid continued to prattle on regardless of Arthur's disinterest, her hand occasionally alighting on his arm as she made what she must have thought was an amusing comment. He spared her the occasional glance and an infrequent grunt while fantasising about tying her to her horse and sending it on its way to its home stable. He considered whether he could get away with it...probably.

Arthur huffed and blew his fringe from his eyes, the entree sat before him untasted. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry at any rate. He took a swig of wine, feeling it warm his insides and make the world a nice kind of fuzzy. So maybe he'd probably had a bit too much to drink already but he couldn't see how he'd manage to sit through dinner all the way sober.

Around him, servants bustled, removing the entree to make way for the first course that was carried in and laid down in such a fluid manner it resembled an intricate dance. He was half aware of the dish being placed before him - the hearty aroma of venison served with a red wine and wild mushroom sauce. It was one of his favourite dishes and the alluring smells managed to pique his appetite. The blood curdling scream trampled it.

Every head turned to the woman who had screamed, one hand to her face, the other pointing towards the middle of the hall, finger wavering in fright. All eyes turned and gasps and screams resounded around the room. Arthur felt his heart still in his chest a as a visage he'd never thought to see again appeared, flickered then reappeared further back, then jumped forward sometimes visible, sometimes not but the haunting song that had once put the entire court to sleep wove its way around the room, ineffective but still hauntingly familiar. The woman's form flickered between the beautiful Lady Helen to the old crone that had attempted to take his life. She stood before him, arm drawn back, dagger in her fist before she disappeared entirely. Arthur flinched as the ghostly imprint of the dagger for a moment flickered towards him before all sense of strangeness died away, leaving the court shaken and silent. Chests panted for breath and sobs of fear were muffled by handkerchief's held delicately to mouths. A hush of chatter slowly spread through the room, building to an excited din. Arthur chanced a glance at his father's face. It was as stony and unreadable as normal, but his eyes were wide and almost wild.

Among the whispers and conversation the word 'witchcraft' crept like a demon, weaving its way through the court and god forbid it reach his father. Arthur's shoulders stiffened in apprehension. A great roar interrupted his thoughts and his eyes darted back to the centre of the room and they widened as he recognised his own back. The flickering self-image was holding a flaming torch in one hand and his sword in the other. As the phantom-Arthur lurched forward with his sword the flame revealed the Afanc, something that had haunted his dreams for a week after the incident. Like before, the ghostly images flickered before the court, stuttered and sped through like an image from an intangible dream or a vivid nightmare.

Those few that weren't either frozen in terror or fascination were fleeing, pushing passed one another to get through the doors, tripping and trampling others in their haste to escape. Many still remained, transfixed; his father, for one, Arthur himself, Gaius, his mouth hanging slack and eyes disbelieving. Morgana was frozen to here chair, eyes wide and frantic, her expression of pure panic and confusion. Arthur could feel his entire body shaking and was in a way glad that everyone's attention was on the cavalcade of nightmare beasts and evil sorcerer's paraded in front of them all. His hand sat restlessly on the pommel of his sword, though here was no enemy that he could discern, only ones long defeated and only half remembered.

It seemed monster after monster, trial after trial was being re-inacted for the whole court to see; A knight and his mount ran the length of the hall, his lance glowing with blue flames to pierce the breast of the Griffin - something Arthur had not been conscious to witness in the first place. Sometimes he appeared in the misty scenes before them, sometimes not. Then the questing beast appeared, prowling the great halls, hissing and weaving its head in warning before it lurched forward and took down the phantom-Arthur, leaving him cold and lifeless on the floor.

Then even that faded and the hall rang with silence; stony cold, relieved and anxious silence. The sound of people shuffling, regaining seats permeated the room. The lack of illumination was in its own way more terrifying with the promise of new evils. Drinks were brought to lips in shaky hands and the soft disbelieving murmurs of the court filtered through the heavy layer of shock.

A loud clattering had Arthur turning to his father so fast the muscle tore in his neck and he winced, a hand coming up to rub at it. His father had stood, upending his goblet and he glared out fiercely at the court. His knights stepped forward at the ready. In an ominous deep tone he ordered them soundly. "Find me the perpetrator of this act. NOW!"

His voice roared and echoed throughout the hall. And the roar kept building to a crescendo, warping and then flames appeared, heading towards the royal family in a steady stream. Arthur leapt from his chair, bringing his hands up to shield his face, Morgana shrieked and Uther reared back, arm ready to block the fierce torrent of flames.

No heat, no boiling death came for them, only light, searing their eyes, turning their vision white but not before they all caught sight of the Great Dragon in its vindictive fury, belching flames like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. The flames didn't fall short, but they hit a solid, though invisible barrier and only the knowledge that the dragon was still underground kept the illusion from being mistaken as real.

As their vision began to clear, the candles in the room began to light. The electric and heady pressure in the room dissipated like a storm that had spent itself and everyone slowly climbed to their feet. Some to flee, some to regain their seats. Uther raised himself to his full height, his face as stern as usual and wordlessly left the hall. Arthur could only guess that it was to go see the dragon as it could have only been the great beast that was capable of doing such a thing.

Doubt niggled at his mind, though. Most of the scenes that had coalesced before them had contained or had happened around or to him and some of the things he'd not even been conscious to witness the outcome. Even now it was hard to piece together all the things that he'd just watched. Like any nightmare it's memory was fading, even if the initial terror persisted. Arthur drew a long, calming breath before silently turning and leaving. He was the last one out, the others having left while Arthur had been trying to identify the feeling clawing up his spine.

The doors were drawn behind him by the guards that stood in the hall. His footsteps faded off into the distance and despite their duty, the guards abandoned their post for the guard house the moment he'd left the hall. Not even the threat of the stocks was enough to keep them guarding the accursed great hall.

So really, it was a shame that nothing had further delayed Arthur but in the same breath was fortuitous because, sitting near the fireplace with a line of boots beside him was a flickering incandescent shade, one boot clasped in his hand, a scrubbing brush in the other. the figure looked at the trail of boots a moment, his hand stilling at his task, before he returned to it with more vigour.

Something made him look up, though, look to the left and another figure appeared, flickered and moved, was now sitting beside him. They were talking, sometimes they smiled, sometimes they looked like they were about to laugh, then the one was then gripping the other around the neck and harshly running his knuckles through the hair of the other boy, his mouth moving silently as the other struggled against his grip, his lips moving soundlessly in protest. The blond released the brunette and settled in beside him a moment. Then he was leaving and the boy with the boot was sitting alone, though a smile lingered on his lips. And then he was gone.

Elsewhere in the town, the same brown-haired boy rolled on to his side, the small frown that creased his brow slowly easing. His hands uncurled from their white-knuckled grip on his sheets and his breathing slowed. The air outside was calm, the entire town muted. People walked softly, carefully, quietly; soft smiles and light hearts carrying them to their homes. It should have been eerie, it should have been strange however, for that moment it seemed the world itself had pressed a finger to its lips and even the bell-ringers remained silent that night.

Despite the chaos of the day...the night...was peaceful.

* * *

"...Merlin...What...? W-what are you- what in _heaven's name..._ MERLIN!"

"eugh...Yes, what?"

"What are you doing here!"

"...I would have thought that was obvious," Merlin replied, voice thick with sleep before snuggling back into his soft pillow. Funny, since his was little more than a small lumpy sack, lined with bundles of rag-end fabric. Not to mention feeling so atypically warm, the blankets luxurious against his skin. Every part of him was warm, not a toe nor ear feeling the affects of the approaching season and he felt so blessedly rested and calm that he could hardly bring himself to pay that other voice any heed.

"Merlin..." That bloody prince. Couldn't he even have one moment to himself?

"Merlin, if you don't wake up this second I'm fetching the guards and having you thrown in the stocks." The stocks. Merlin had nightmares about being put there. Dreams of mouldy cabbage and frost hardened potatoes and those rotten, fetid tomatoes. With a weary groan Merlin pulled himself up, the heel of his hind rubbing at sleep-encrusted eyes. Slowly he opened them, blinking away the fuzziness. His room was dark, which was weird. Even though his window was only small it always captured the full morning sun, disturbing his sleep on those precious few days he was allowed to sleep in past dawn. His gaze fell to his hand which was lying limp against the sheets. The royal burgundy, velvet and silk lined sheets.

_These are _not_ my sheets._

"So...care to explain?" The cold sense of dread that had been building in Merlin's gut was like a solid, sinking weight. Merlin flinched at Arthur's voice and turned to look at him cautiously.

He was in his night shirt, hair mussed and sticking out in odd directions, strongly reminding Merlin of a sleep-addled toddler. The thing was, he was lying _next to Merlin_, propped up by his left arm, the right draped regally over his hip, his eyebrow raised in silent question as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Oh, bollocks.

At least he looked amused. Of course, having been his manservant for over a year now Merlin had learnt to be just as wary of his smile as he was of his scowl. Merlin could feel his mouth gaping, like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and dread.

"Um...I...I..."

"Really, Merlin, I didn't know you felt that way about me," Arthur sneered, though he couldn't hide the incredulity in his gaze. Merlin yelped and tumbled out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor in his haste. He regained his footing immediately, shooting up like a spring and continued to stare openly at Arthur's bemused expression. "I know, I know I'm hard to resist but you'll just have to try, Merlin."

"Oh don't flatter yourself!" Merlin snapped back. "I must have been...sleepwalking or something..." The excuse sounded weak even to him, but there couldn't be any other explanation.

Arthur snorted indelicately before sliding from his bed, pushing aside the curtains before stretching his back muscles out, arms raised towards the ceiling. He groaned in appreciation as his spine clicked several times then rolled his neck and shoulders. Merlin watched him for a moment before automatically straightening the bed sheets beside him.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?" Arthur asked tersely.

"Er...making the bed?"

"I gave you strict instructions, Merlin. Three days rest, not one or two." Merlin's hands stilled at Arthur's words and he straightened, turning to the Prince guardedly.

"Yes, I know, I- wait, what...does that mean I've been asleep an entire day?" Merlin asked, dumbstruck.

"I'm guessing so, I didn't see you at all yesterday, thank God," Arthur replied absently as he moved to his wardrobe and began eyeing off what clothes to wear. No wonder Merlin was feeling so well rested. Though normally if he slept more than eight hours he'd become groggy and overtired...he must have really needed that sleep.

Well, orders were orders. Merlin abandoned the sheets and sat at the end of the bed, choosing instead to watch his master perform tasks that he normally relegated to him. It both equally offended and amused him that Arthur was clearly capable of finding his own clothes and dressing himself, even if he still couldn't manage to put the dirty clothes he discarded into the hamper provided. It made him wonder what other useless tasks he had Merlin perform, just because he could.

Merlin was almost positive that he wasn't needed to muck out stables or walk his dogs. There was a whole fleet of ostlers, grooms, stable- and kennel hands, not to mention dedicated servants attached to the armory who would probably do a much better job of maintaining his armor and weapons. Besides, that's what a squire was for. Merlin had no inclination to becoming a warrior and he certainly wasn't in training to be a knight. He was a manservant, something that Arthur took great pleasure in reminding him on a daily, sometimes hourly basis.

He couldn't have had it any other way. Being his manservant and doing all those chores (that he needn't really be doing) kept him close to Arthur; made him a useful asset for the Prince to have. If Arthur were to take on a squire, Merlin could imagine that their relationship would only suffer for it, since he'd end up taking the squire hunting, with him on his jaunts or serving his wine at banquets and Lord knows that Arthur was a magnet for trouble. It was essential for Merlin to stay where he was; Arthur would be dead ten times over without him. He shook his head wryly at the thought. It was silly, really. Arthur had been looking after himself a long time before Merlin showed up. He couldn't imagine how the Prince would have escaped any magical attacks prior to his arrival but it had to be so...unless...

"So...anything interesting happen while I was asleep?" Merlin enquired, settling a curious smile on his face. Arthur looked up from where he was lacing his boots and shrugged.

"Nothing much. Though my father did join in for the hunt yesterday."

"Really? That's a bit out of character, isn't it?"

"Hmph. You haven't had a chance to speak with Lord Vortigern or his daughter, I take it."

"Ah. No, not Vortigern but his daughter is completely obnoxious."

"That's putting it mildly. You didn't have to sit with her at dinner for four nights running, now did you?"

"Not my fault I'm just a mere servant," Merlin replied with a grin and a shrug. Sometimes he was glad of his status, if it meant only having to deal with one noble full-time and not having to pander up to the lot of them, then that was fine with him. Usually the nobility ignored his presence unless he had a wine pitcher in his hand; frankly it was amazing how much the servants were privy to. It seemed that they were so below the attentions of their masters' that many secrets were told within their hearing distance. If Merlin ever planned to infiltrate a castle as a spy, all he'd need was a subservient attitude and something to carry and he'd probably be able to make it past most security. After all, the stupidity of the ruling class could not possibly be isolated to Camelot alone. Merlin chewed at his lip worriedly. "So...nothing out of the ordinary happen?"

"Well, there was this thing that happened in the Great Hall last night. It was chilling..." Arthur's voice petered off and his eyes grew distant. "It was strange, like watching someone's memory come to life. Memories or illusions...Do you remember that witch that stole Lady Helen's face? And the questing beast, the griffin...It was like I was seeing my own memories but from different eyes."

Merlin's heart stilled in his chest. He hadn't been expecting to hear anything like that at all and it sounded suspiciously like a nightmare that he'd been having last night.

"Father seems to think that it was the Dragon that was responsible. He's posted more guards at the entrance but I don't honestly know why he bothers; no one in their right mind would go down there, unless they want to get burnt to a cinder."

"Oh, so that's it? Hasn't it been a bit...quiet of late?"

"Merlin what's with all the questions?" Merlin shrugged wordlessly, absently fiddling at a tear in the knee of his trousers. Arthur stared at him for a moment, waiting for a better response then sighed. He threw himself back into his chair and folded his arms comfortably over his stomach, legs stretched out in front of him. "It's not been quiet, we've had 80 noble families come to Camelot for the winter this last week alone, not to mention the farmers and serfs bringing in grain and produce for the storehouses and hunts every other day to fill the cold-room. Every one of those 80 families with daughters have been clamouring about their virtues and shuttling them in front of me at every turn and the Lords' sons are bickering and challenging one another to duels and continue to disrupt the knights' training by attempting to kill each other on our practice grounds. Nothing much has changed in that one day while you were sleeping, you lucky sod."

"Well...I meant, lately, in the last week or so...nothing...strange...or magical has happened, has it?"

"I...well, no, now that you mention it. Not really. Perhaps even sorcerers need to prepare for winter and have better things to do with their time..."

Merlin stopped listening at that point. What if...the reason that sorcerers and magical beasts seemed to find Arthur with such ease was _because of him_? What if _he_ was the one drawing in all these beings of the old religion, as if his magic was triggering some sort of...innate reaction...it was unlikely but it wasn't impossible. Normally they couldn't go a week without some kind of incident. It wasn't always Sorcerers or dangerous beasts. There had been that occasion with the water nymphs and wood sprites. Not to mention the run-in they'd had with a red-cap that had taken to haunting an abandoned, crumbling guard tower that stood on the outskirts of one of the outlying villages. Even the brownies, boggarts, water horses, imps and fairies had been quite absent since Merlin had stopped using his magic.

"...lin...Merlin!" Startled from his daze Merlin looked up to find the prince looming over him, his brow creased in most likely irritation. "Don't you have something better to do? Like maybe take a bath?" Arthur's nose wrinkled in mock-disgust. Merlin looked down at himself and lifted his shirt, sniffing at his skin. He rolled his eyes. He didn't smell _that bad_. So maybe he hadn't changed his clothes in two days, at least he'd been clean when he'd gone to bed initially.

"Fine, since it offends you so much. Is there anything I can do before I go?"

"Ye- ah, no. Remember, you're on break and I needn't remind you of the penalty if I find out you're still doing chores."

"But I'm really alright now. I'm fine!"

"I'll be the judge of that. Now go, before I change my mind. There are always stables to muck out and floors to wash."

With that threat, Merlin dashed from the room, feeling uncommonly cheerful. He headed back to his and Gaius' chambers at a run, managing somehow to avoid any collisions or uneven paving stones as he ran.

Merlin pushed open the door, entered Gaius' workroom and stopped. It wasn't really that noticeable, but having lived there for so long and knowing the strict placement that Gaius kept his tools in, it was instantly obvious that things weren't as they should be. Several jars that had contained herbs were missing from their space on the shelves and the glass tubes, beakers and bottles...were...well, twisted, deformed. In the corner by the fireplace a bucket full of broken crockery sat, looking forlorn. Though the floor did appear to be cleaner than normal and the sheafs of paper that always seemed to end up strewn about the table were in neat stacks, weighed down by books and polished stones.

He heard the stumbling footsteps well before he saw Gaius appear from his room, his face marred with worry. As he caught sight of Merlin, the old man stopped, took a deep steadying breath and held a hand to his chest.

"Oh mercy be! Merlin, where have you been!" Gaius snapped, his relief quickly turning to frustration.

"Er...well, you're not going to believe this. I woke up this morning in Arthur's room."

"Ah..."

"In his bed."

"What?!"

"I know! I was startled badly by that myself."

"Merlin...How?"

"I don't know! I was asleep! I don't remember moving at all!" Merlin ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't really let himself consider the hows or whys of what happened. He'd firmly tried to forget that it had even occurred at all but now all his doubts and fears and _embarrassment _resurfaced and he could feel himself go red all the way to the tips of his ears. "The worst part was having Arthur be so nonchalant about it. He can be such a prat sometimes. I'm _never _going to live this down."

"...Arthur was there?" Gaius murmured weakly. He moved over to the table and collapsed onto the seat with a weary groan. "Merlin...you are going to be the death me."

Merlin said nothing and stood for a long drawn out moment with his eyes downcast, waiting for the lecture. None was forthcoming. He chanced a look at his mentor; Gaius had his elbow propped against the table, his chin resting against the heel of his palm. He looked tired, wrung-out and Merlin was at a loss to explain it. He hadn't looked that poorly the night before last. The silence stretched out and Merlin eventually left for his room, his mood taking a sudden downturn.

He gathered his clothes into a pile, including a rag to dry off on as well as a small bar of soap then turned back the way he'd come, striding through the workshop at an even pace.

"Merlin, where are you going?" Gaius asked as Merlin strode across the room. He was still sitting slumped by his workbench, but his expression was affectionate, if tired. Merlin paused with his hand on the door knob, ready to respond.

"The bathhouse," he replied. Gaius shook his head in exasperation and waved him on. After a parting grin Merlin continued on his way, his thoughts occupied by that morning's events. He was so distracted that he almost walked past the bathhouse in a daze. Merlin back-tracked to the door and took a surreptitious glance down the empty hall. Strictly speaking, he wasn't _necessarily_ allowed to use the bathing facilities, since it was meant for the visiting guests, knights, as well as the Lords and Ladies that called Camelot their home. Servants didn't have their own bathing house and few had access to their own bathtub, often sharing the same wooden tub with up to ten different people. Mostly, the serving class made do with a small basin in their room and a wash cloth. But nothing could really take the place of a good, hot soak. It was common knowledge among the household that at this time of day it was rare to see another soul in the bathhouse, especially this close to Winter, which the servants occasionally took advantage of.

Merlin pushed through the door and headed to the men's room. He peered around the corner to make certain there was no one currently inside and slipped in, exhaling loudly. He hadn't even realised that he'd been holding his breath till that moment. Merlin took a moment to look about; benches ran the length of the room and towards the rear was a large, deep pool for communal bathing. It could have easily fit over twenty people comfortably and more if you didn't mind the intimacy. Torches were lit around the perimeter of the room, lending a dim wavering light to the air, illuminating the marble- and stone-work, gilding the wooden benches like gold and catching in the steam that permeated the room. Closer to the door there were separate baths, currently dry and empty of water.

The Bathhouse was a relatively recent addition to the castle, modeled after the roman bathhouses that had become fashionable all over Europe though had been designed with the English weather in mind. It wasn't open-air or particularly well-lit and was hidden within the confines of the castle, kept away from drafty airways. The baths were heated by boilers that were kept lit throughout the day, maintained by convicts working off their sentences one floor below. It was all tiled in white ceramic and the openness of the room was somewhat daunting for someone like Merlin who, though he'd shared washing water with others before, had never been exposed to the idea of so many men bathing together at once for pleasure and not out of necessity. This was also the first time Merlin had ever ventured inside the bathhouse. Arthur preferred to wash in his room; Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that it was because Arthur took pleasure in making Merlin go to the great effort of carting the buckets of water up the countless flights of stairs to his room _and_ somehow manage the impossible task of keeping the water hot. Merlin didn't care what people said, or that he was a Prince, he could still be a sadistic prat when he wanted - a fact that he reminded Arthur of whenever he could.

Merlin quickly slipped out of his clothes and made his way over to a set of stools in the corner where people were intended to soap up and wash off first. He hastily slathered soap over his body, scrubbing almost furiously, then used a bucket that he filled with water to pour over his head and wash off the soapy residue. He didn't linger too long over the task, just long enough to make sure the majority of the soap had been washed off and even in the hot air he was shivering. Feeling somewhat self-conscious in his naked state, Merlin picked up his drying cloth and headed towards the pool. Dropping his towel a few feet from the edge, he quickly moved down the steps, almost slipping in his haste till he was waist-deep in water. Merlin couldn't fathom the amount of effort it must have taken to keep the entire pool at nearing painfully warm levels throughout the day. It had something to do with heating the pipes that brought the water in. The mechanics of it were a mystery to him, especially since he could as easily have just willed the water hot with his magic, though he'd never tried doing it on such a large body of water before.

Merlin sank down till he was chin deep, perched on a wide ledge that ran the diameter of the pool except for where the stairs led in and couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips. It felt sinfully good being submerged in the water; like he was being embraced by a welcoming water-god or sprite. He could have remained there for hours if the underlying anxiety of being somewhere he knew he shouldn't hadn't begun to pray on his nerves. Reluctantly he climbed out, quickly ran his drying cloth over his body and clumsily drew on his clothing, enjoying the sensation of clean clothes brushing against his skin. His hair was still damp and curling around his neck as he exited the building, feeling laconic and content.

"Merlin?" Merlin's heart jumped into his throat and he turned in dread to find Morgana and Gwen, who by the looks of it, had come from their own bath. In a panic, Merlin threw the bundle of clothes and the damp cloth behind a nearby statue and smiled nervously at the pair.

"Good morning, Lady Morgana, Gwen."

They each shared an amused look that promised trouble to Merlin, he felt.

"Good morning, Merlin...enjoy your bath?" Morgana asked, her voice lilting and dangerous. He knew he'd been caught out. He'd expected that he would, but he'd hoped that he was just being cynical. Inwardly he was cursing his own stupidity as his mind frantically tried to come up with an excuse, some sort of believable lie that would miraculously get him out of trouble. His brain was like cotton wool, thick and uncooperative.

"You're not going to tell anyone are you?" Merlin asked sheepishly, his brow creased with worry. Morgana and Gwen shared another conspiratorial look then regarded Merlin carefully. He clasped his hands together in front of him in silent plea and made his eyes round - a look that he used on his mother to great effect whenever he had been in trouble.

"It depends," Morgana said, slowly. "What do you have on today, Merlin?"

"Nothing. Arthur's given me a few days off," Merlin responded. The girls both looked shocked at his announcement, though Morgana's expression swiftly drew into what could only be described as an evil glint. Merlin felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The look reminded him wholly of Arthur and he didn't trust that look one iota.

"Then if you don't want us to tell anyone, you have to spend the day with us!" Morgana said with a smirk. Merlin was surprised. He rather enjoyed spending time with Gwen and Morgana, since they weren't interested in killing for sport or trouncing things (quite often Merlin) with a big heavy sword. Though he still couldn't find it in himself to trust the King's ward when she wore that expression, he nodded dumbly in acquiescence and followed after them as Morgana quickly turned and headed back through the maze-like hallways to her bed-chambers. Merlin stepped in with hesitation. Honestly, he didn't usually consider the impropriety of being in a woman's chambers; had even on occasion been alone with both Morgana and/or Gwen at some stage and for extended periods of time and he'd never thought how it must have seemed to outsiders. He was wondering about it now as he stood just inside the doorway and Morgana went immediately to her screen as Gwen bustled around, pulling out a new dress for her to wear.

"We're going down to the market for some fabric among other things," Gwen informed Merlin as she passed him.

"Oh?" Merlin replied uncertainly, the sense of dread building like a heavy weight in his gut.

"Yes," Morgana affirmed as she stepped from behind the screen, adjusting the sleeve on a forest green, velvet dress with a mint green under-layer of knotted silk. She took her place at the dressing table and Gwen was there, gently tugging a brush through her ebony locks as Morgana pored through a jewelry box, slipping trinkets and baubles onto her fingers, wrists and ears. She was certainly more adorned than normal and even Gwen was wearing her best - a soft lilac dress with an embroidered bodice that clung to her figure nicely, but didn't detract from her appearance of sweet modesty.

Merlin looked down at himself; he was wearing his favourite blue shirt, his tan pants and his only pair of boots that were so worn and scuffed it was hard to tell what the original colour had been. He was almost certain that they had been an earthy dark brown. It was difficult to make out beneath all the stains and mud splatters. Self consciously he fiddled with the point of his red neckerchief and tried not to feel like the pauper that he looked. It was a wonder that he hadn't been lectured over his appearance more often. The rest of the servants in the household were usually much more finely dressed than he, unless they worked in the armory, boilers, laundry or outside in the kennels, stables, falconry and garden. Though even those servants had a set of sunday best. Merlin didn't even have the luxury of a _nice_ set of clothing. He had always just been grateful to have any sort of clothing on his back, so long as it kept out the chill.

But now, standing in the chambers of a refined lady and her equally beautiful maid, Merlin could feel the gap in class more acutely than ever. Even Gwen, who held a similar position, seemed well above him. He ran a regretful hand down his front and felt his lip tremble slightly. "Are you sure you want to drag me along?" He asked, his voice low and uneven.

Morgana glanced at him through the mirror, Gwen turned slightly to regard him, her eyes scanning him inquisitively. "Merlin, you don't have to come if you're that opposed to it. We're not trying to force you to come along if you've something that you'd rather be doing," Morgana said, lifting her chin defensively.

"No! No, it's not that...but...won't I disgrace you?" His voice had lowered to almost a whisper and he was fidgeting, now with the hem of his sleeves, curling them into his palm in a nervous gesture.

"...Are you feeling alright, Merlin?" Gwen asked suddenly, abandoning her mistress to approach him. Merlin avoided her eyes and nodded mutely. But he wasn't alright. Something was wrong. His mood hadn't soured, he wasn't angry or upset he was just...he felt like he did as a child when his mother had first introduced him to some of the neighbour's children and he'd been in a panic over whether they'd like him or hate him, if they'd call him a freak or pick on him. It was that same nervous anxiety that had him curling in on himself.

He was startled as he felt Gwen's small hand grasp his arm comfortingly and felt the childish fear lose its choking hold; he smiled gratefully at her and she returned it warmly.

"Morgana?" She asked simply. It was fascinating how the two women seemed to communicate so much with so few words. Morgana was nodding her understanding and stood.

"Of course, go," Morgana turned to Merlin. Gwen gave him a parting wave and raced out the door. "Don't worry, Merlin, by the time we're done, no one will think anything of you being with us. " Then she smiled and Merlin stopped breathing for a moment, could only nod dumbly. Morgana had the most startling smile; it turned what was a strong, almost severe face into something ethereal and beautiful. He always seemed to forget how handsome Morgana was; there hadn't been much cause for her to smile of late and a part of Merlin could sense her pulling away from normal castle life.

It was heartening to see her taking some enjoyment back and better yet that she appeared well-rested for the first time in too long. Morgana returned to the dresser and picked up the brush herself, running it through the lengths of her hair. The light from the window glinted off a silver arm band that encircled her wrist and for a moment Merlin was blinded by it; overwhelmed by the sense of magic emanating from it.

It was harmless magic, he could tell; malign spells tended to leave a sour tang in his mouth. This enchantment was more like a summer breeze, laden with the smell of cut grass and honeysuckle. It wasn't a tangible thing, though, it was ineffable, a sensation, an impression but it was the only way he could define it. He'd always experienced the sense of individual spells in different ways. Sometimes it was pressure on his eardrums, a taste, a feeling, shivers running up and down his spine or a cold wind blown through his chest.

Gwen's return was swift and her cheeks were high with colour, her liquid brown eyes alight with success. "We're in luck. Sir Lamorak brought a mound of clothes to the laundry when he arrived yesterday and they've just finished drying. He won't miss a few items in that massive pile. He's very close to your size, too Merlin, so they should sit well on you."

"If he finds out about this-" Merlin started warningly.

"I'll tell him we did it for a jest," Morgana cut in. "He might have issue with servants stealing, but it's another thing entirely if I am responsible."

Hesitantly he drew the pile of clothes from Gwen's arms and excused himself as he went behind the screen to trade his own, threadbare coverings for the knight's much sturdier - and softer clothing. The fit wasn't perfect. In fact, it seemed that Sir Lamorak didn't have much of an arse, the way his pants clung to Merlin's buttocks. they were the right length, though; a warm, honey brown leather that was so supple it felt like cloth. Next he donned the shirt. It was wider in the shoulders, though long enough that it covered him to mid-thigh, something he was distinctly grateful for. The shirt itself was a plain, egg-shell white linen, with laces at the neck and intricate embroidered celtic knots in greens, browns and reds at the hemline on the sleeves, collar and shirt tail. Because of the extra room in the shoulders, the shirt-sleeves were a little long on Merlin; he could easily hide his slender fingers within the fabric if he didn't mind the risk of wrinkling the shirt. Over that he wore a suede , fur-lined jerkin that came to his waist, and was fastened with brass buttons. It was sleeveless, in a green so dark it almost appeared black except when caught in a certain light. It nicely complimented the colour of Morgana's dress and as he moved from behind the screen he received pleasantly surprised approvals from the two women. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and had to admit that the clothes, though ill-fitting in minor ways actually looked quite good on him. The colours brought out the creaminess of his skin and the pants made him look taller, with their narrow fit.

"I still feel like a right pillock."

Morgana laughed and Merlin blushed furiously. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"You look dashing!" Gwen assured him. "Not that you don't look dashing all the time! Well, when Arthur's not had you scrubbing floors or out hunting and covered in mud and twigs. Not that I actually look at you in that way! I mean, what I mean is that it's a nice change...And compared to how you normally dress- um...You look lovely." Merlin shook his head in amusement and Gwen pursed her lips against more words.

Morgana looked over him appraisingly, smirking at the same old scruffy boots that they hadn't thought to replace. "You'll do. Come on, I want to get going before all the best is already taken." Morgana stalked from the room, Gwen following and Merlin bringing up the rear, shutting the door on his way out. He felt nervous, worried that he'd turn a corner and run into Sir Lamorak, who'd have to recognise such a distinctive outfit, or even worse - Arthur. He could just imagine the humiliation and taunts he'd have to suffer through. Not to mention punishment for "working". Though he wasn't sure if being blackmailed was considered work.

He needn't have wound himself up so much. They met nary a soul as they left the castle; perhaps many were still abed nursing hangovers from the feast last night. The only others out were the guard and many were being held up by castle walls, their helmets pulled down as far as they would go. They all let out a relieved sigh when they reached the courtyard and they all walked, side-by-side through the courtyard and down the streets to the market square. Merlin could imagine the picture that they made; two tall slender figures framing the shorter, more delicate figure of Gwen, like leaves supporting a dainty flower. If Gwen heard his musings, though, she'd probably pound him into the ground without a second thought.

Outside the sky was a clear, endless azure with the occasional fluffy cloud scurrying overhead. The hot, bright sun took the edge off an otherwise chilly day and the general pleasantness of the weather was infectious, smiles were brighter, good humour was abound and Merlin was feeling elated, a spring in each step. He spent their walk regaling them with anecdotes about Arthur - things that he didn't like others knowing and he rabbited on about Ealdor, which would be quiet and cold right now, though the nights would be filled with ale and roughhousing. When farmers had little but alcohol to amuse them, things got a little wild, though it kept them from freezing to death during the long, cruel winter.

Merlin was glad in a way that he'd been caught outside the baths by these two; he would have been at a loss for what to do otherwise and it was a pleasant change to spend time with the fairer sex. He certainly didn't miss mucking out the stables, hunting or cleaning leech tanks. It had been such a long time since he'd had no obligation, and he intended to enjoy it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **edited: 8/1/13. Sorry to disappoint, just cleaning up the previous chapters. Hopefully, you'll see a marked improvement :D.

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His feet ached. His face hurt from smiling so much and his arms shook under the weight of all the parcels, packets and bags he was carrying. And for the first couple of hours, even though he was carrying everything, Merlin was still having fun.

Then Morgana and Gwen dragged him off to the tailor to have some clothes fitted for him. It had not only been a new, terrifying and wondrous experience, it also ended up being one of the most uncomfortable, tedious and boring things he'd ever done. He was usually quite happy to find a cheap shirt that halfway fit for the most part and though while he had to admit that the clothes that he'd been forced into hadn't been that bad, the standing still and being jabbed with pins bit wasn't the most pleasant sensation. Overall it was an experience that he was glad to have had and one that he wasn't likely to repeat any time soon. He tried valiantly to protest when Morgana paid for the clothes, baulking at the end cost, however, she ignored his every complaint, later revealing that she'd 'liberated' some of Arthur's money and suddenly, Merlin didn't mind quite so much.

The three of them had prowled the market, visiting fabric merchant's, jeweller's, glass-blowers, confectionary stands and a pokey little stall that sold cheap trinkets, old clothing, small glass vials among other odds and ends. Merlin rarely ever got to visit the market and only ever passing through it. Now he felt like a country bumpkin who'd just moved to Camelot, gawking at every little thing with awe and astonishment. At one stage he was so caught up in looking at a glass blowing display, Merlin tripped and nearly fell face-first into a mud puddle. Two hands grabbed him from either side as Gwen and Morgana righted him before he could dirty his borrowed clothes.

They didn't stay long after that. Merlin escorted the two women back to Morgana's chambers and laid down their parcel's on the dining table before making his excuses, then headed back to Gaius' study.

He came back to an angry Gaius who had expected his return directly after his bath and had been left to fret over where his young charge had got to. Merlin was forced to sit there and listen to a retelling of what had happened while he'd been asleep and he would have had trouble believing Gaius if he hadn't seen the broken crockery and twisted glass.

"Have you any idea how this could have happened?" Gaius asked gruffly once Merlin had placated him with a freshly brewed cup of tea and a promise of a shoulder rub.

Merlin set the cup before his mentor and moved behind him, resting his hands soothingly on the old man's shoulders. "It's never happened before...well, not since I was a child. It's never been that bad and I've not had it escape my control while I was asleep in so long, I can't even remember the last time." Gaius groaned appreciatively as Merlin began to work his shoulders, he'd been all knotted up with tension and anxiety when Merlin hadn't returned. He'd half-feared that the guards had come and dragged him off to the dungeons or to questioning. In truth, Merlin's presence was more of a relief than the massage.

They stayed in companionable silence for a while, Merlin busy with his hands and Gaius occupied with his thoughts. To him, it seemed that the random outbursts of magic and Merlin's stranger-than-usual behaviour were intrinsically linked. He'd never heard of it ever happening to other magic users; it certainly had never happened to him and he had gone years without using his own abilities. It was another of those little oddities that highlighted how different Merlin was.

Gaius turned to regard Merlin over his shoulder and indicated for him to sit. He waited as Merlin rounded the table and took his seat, his expression open and unconcerned. "Merlin...has it occurred to you that it's because you haven't been using your gift, that it's gotten out of hand?"

"What? No! Why would it?" Merlin responded immediately. His eyes, however, belied his self-assurances. Despite outward appearance, Merlin was a bright young man when he chose to apply himself and right now he was scared; he hid it well for the most part. "Have you considered that it might have been because of that potion you gave me?" He retorted.

"That _potion_ was a simple sleeping draught with a dream suppressant mixed in. I have used it myself on occasion and I've given it to many of my patients, none of whom had any ill reaction," Gaius responded, his temper rising. "It's simple herbs, nothing that should trigger such a violent reaction. This is about you!"

"But what about all those other magic user's in hiding? What about you? Why don't you lose control of your magic?"

Gaius sighed wearily, "What I know of magic and my ability to use it is all learnt from books and scrolls and training; it was not something I had a natural aptitude for. It's the same for most other magic users. Some have more ability than others - a talent in foresight, telepathy, or telekinesis... Some, like the druids who are raised among nature and brought up following the old ways are more attuned to the flow of magic in the spirit world and in the natural world . However, there have only been recorded a handful of people with truly exceptional ability," Gaius paused, carefully studying Merlin's face. His brow was creased in an angry line, his mouth pursed, eyes oddly glassy and he refused to meet Gaius' gaze.

"Every living thing has a core of energy, a spiritual essence, if you will, but few have the ability to manipulate it. For most magic users, myself included, we must use spells, rituals and ceremonies to guide our will; we can amplify the amount of energy we are able to access by using rune-stones, amulets and the like to supplement our own power but even that has it's limits."

"I know this already, Gaius," Merlin interjected, impatiently. Gaius raised his brow pointedly at Merlin's interruption and waited for him to quiet before continuing. _"However_, you are not like every other magic user and the rules that apply to everyone else _don't apply to you_. For most, we all contain only a small amount of natural energy but like a muscle, the more you use it, the stronger it becomes although there is a limit to how much that energy can grow as well as a limit to how much power the body can withstand. There have been many sorcerer's who've met rather disastrous ends in the pursuit of limitless power.

"In your case, you don't have a small amount of energy. If you were to measure the difference between you and I, it would be like comparing a millpond to an ocean."

Merlin's eyes widened in disbelief and he sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. "But...what...I'm not-"

"_You're powerful, Merlin_. More powerful than any sorcerer I have ever met. You're on a whole other level from us and whether you like it or not, no matter how much you deny it, you _are _different. My hypothesis is that you soak in magic from the world around you as well as generate your own. Moreover, while you are able to control outgoing energy consciously - and also to a point, subconsciously, you have never cultivated the ability to shut out external magic and you continue to absorb it involuntarily. Even you, Merlin, have a limit to how much magic your body can tolerate. While you continue to ignore your gift, that energy continues to build. Your erratic behaviour and your inability to sleep could very well be a symptom of this. Perhaps your body is trying to expend or expel that energy in any way it can and it's doing it at the expense of your overall health.

"Right now you are containing your magic, yes?" Merlin nodded in response. "Well, imagine that you are a jug that's being filled with water. You've sealed off all the gaps to stop any leaks but you're not bottomless. What happens to a jug that you continue to fill with water?"

"...It overflows," Merlin murmured, his face white with dawning realisation. Gaius had always warned him against performing magic frivolously, but he'd never really taken into consideration how unique the boy was. He had always been aware that not all the rules applied to Merlin but had not realised to what extent that was true. Magic was a part of him, he did it as easily as breathing and until recently, with almost the same frequency. Merlin for his own reasoning was now denying his very nature and it was clear that it was killing him.

Merlin had to quit his 'no-magic' ban for his own safety and maybe life would also return to as close to normal as it ever got around Camelot. Merlin shook his head disbelievingly. "It can't be. No, it just can't. There must be some other explanation."

"What, Merlin, what else could it possibly be?"

"I don't know! but there's got to be something that I can do to fix this!"

"Use your gift, Merlin. You were given that power for a reason and to deny that would be to deny who you are!"

Merlin climbed abruptly to his feet, eyes wide and fevered, chest heaving erratically. "That's not the _point!_" He shouted, running his shaking hands anxiously through his hair. He began pacing the length of the room, his movements frenzied. "Haven't you ever wondered, haven't you ever questioned why Arthur is such a magnet for so many supernatural attacks?"

"He's a Prince, Merlin. The son of a merciless King whose popularity has been steadily waning. He's always been a target for enemies of the crown, both magical and mundane."

"But it's been happening so often lately! It seems almost every week there's been some sort of magical attack going on and it's getting harder and harder to protect him, Gaius!"

"There hasn't been an attack in the last week, Merlin, it-"

"Exactly! _That_ is _the point_!" Merlin interrupted with a nervous laugh. "Since I've stopped using magic, there hasn't been a single attack! _I'm _the cause of it all, Gaius. When I use magic, I don't know, it's as if it attracts magical creatures and sorcerers! Since I've stopped using it, there hasn't been a single incident! And think about it, _how_ did Arthur survive all those years before meeting me? He might be a great warrior but he's no match for someone with powers and like you said, he's always been a target. He should have been taken down by some magical force long before now!"

"Merlin, you don't know what it was like twenty years ago," Gaius sighed. "You have no idea what it's _been_ like since the time when magic was banned. For the last twenty years, people have been living in fear. Any suspicion of sorcery was met with expeditious punishment, usually death. The community was torn apart and magic-users were driven from the kingdom, or killed; sometimes their entire family exterminated and there were only a few of us left after the Cleansing. Those that stayed and hid were at risk and only the foolhardy or the desperate were willing to reveal themselves and they met gruesome ends well before they could ever reach Arthur." Gaius couldn't repress the shiver that ran down his spine at the memory. Friends, close companions, children...all sentenced to death and he had been powerless to stop any of it. "Most of us have maintained a low profile, but people can't live in fear their entire lives. It could just be that after so long being oppressed, sorcerers are acting now, especially considering how the state of affairs have been headed of late."

"Then where are they now? Why has it all stopped?"

"Has it occurred to you that even sorcerer's need to prepare for winter?" Gaius responded with a raised brow. Merlin growled with frustration.

"That's what Arthur said," he groused, folding his arms against his chest.

"Well, it _is _the more logical explanation. Besides, if what you say is correct, then wouldn't it also follow that after your unconscious display last night, Arthur would now be in danger from attack?"

"Oh bollocks." Even before the final syllable was uttered, Merlin was racing for the door, his eyes round with panic.

"Merlin! Merlin wait!" Gaius was half out of his chair as Merlin reached the door. He was so certain that he'd run blindly through but didn't let the shock of Merlin actually pausing at the entryway from distracting him. "You once said to me that if you couldn't use magic you might as well die. This isn't about maybes; you _will_ die if you don't use it. You're meant for greater things, Merlin. Don't ignore your gift. You might not live to regret it," Gaius warned. Merlin stared for a moment before nodding mutely, then raced through the door. It was impossible to tell what was going through his head and what made him draw such conclusions. Merlin really was a law unto himself. Gaius collapsed back into his seat and sighed. That boy would be the death of him.

* * *

The trip to Arthur's room was a gauntlet of people, carts, mud puddles, loose cobbles, hoarfrost, animals, castle guards, tables with expensive and extremely breakable vases and narrow winding staircases. Though it wasn't just the castle that had suffered injury. Merlin reached Arthur's room bruised, muddied and winded but with little thought to any physical pain, his panic making him practically blind to his surroundings. Without hesitating or slowing down, Merlin barreled into Arthur's door and lurched through it without so much as a pause. His momentum took him into the room and straight into someone who'd been standing several feet from the door and they both went down in a painful, groaning heap. Merlin recovered quickly and shot up, searching for Arthur, almost choking as his heart leapt into his throat at the sight before him.

The prince lay dazed in a slump against the wall by the window, sword just short of his reach, his shirt gaping and his feet bare. There was a weeping gash that ran from his collarbone down to his right pectoral about 5 inches long. His face was red and bruises were quickly forming round his neck in the shape of fingerprints. Before he was even aware he'd moved, Merlin crouched over Arthur, inspecting him, grateful to hear his rasping breath and see his eyes dance with confusion and slowly forming clarity.

Merlin took a glance over his shoulder at the still crumpled form of the person behind him. A young woman with wild, bedraggled hair lay unconscious, her eyelids stained with the dark bruises of sleepless nights, her skin, sallow and smudged with some unknown filth. She looked emaciated, small and frail. Merlin only spared her a moment before returning his attention to Arthur as he let out a groan of pain.

"Arthur? Sire, are you alright?"

"Merlin, I can't move my legs," Arthur announced weakly with a cough.

"Why? What happened?"

"Merlin, you're sitting on them."

"Oh." Merlin slid off Arthur's lap and helped pull him unsteadily to his feet. Arthur staggered, slid back against the wall and nearly toppled over sideways till Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the chair by the still-banked fire. "What happened?" Merlin repeated as he moved to the night stand to get a pitcher of water and a cloth to help wash off the blood so he could see how deep the wound was. One of the benefits of living with a surgeon was that he couldn't escape learning some basic medical treatments. So long as the gash wasn't too deep, Merlin could handle the situation himself. More than likely, it would need stitching and he'd have to fetch Gaius for that. He poured the contents of the jug into the hand basin and brought that back with him, placing it on the table as he took his own seat.

"I was in bed, asleep and at first I didn't notice anything but something must have woken me, she was on top of me holding a dagg-Argh! Merlin, that's hot!" Arthur yelped, catching Merlin's hand an inch from his skin. Merlin startled and looked at the steaming cloth, then back at the water in the basin, which _had_ been ice cold when he'd poured it earlier. Merlin would have dropped the cloth if his hand hadn't already been clenched in Arthur's grasp. He took a deep, steadying breath even as he tugged on his arm, eyes staring belligerently into Arthur's crystal blue, who returned the look with a warning glare before releasing his grip.

"You just got stabbed in the chest _and_ strangled and you're complaining about the water being a little hot? Your sense of proportion astounds me."

"Shut it, you. I'm injured, remember!" As if to prove his point, Arthur coughed, a hand to his throat. Merlin winced sympathetically and looked about for a cup he could fill, only then remembering that the only clean available water was in the basin that sat, still steaming next to him.

"Hold on," he murmured, then moved to the door, stepping over the still prone figure lying in the centre of the floor. Merlin poked his head into the hall, hoping to catch sight of a passing servant. As it happened, Gwen was rounding the corner, a pile of neatly folded linen in her arms as she headed towards him. "Gwen!" Merlin greeted her brightly.

Gwen responded with a warm smile that quickly faded into a look of puzzlement. "Merlin, your clo-"

"Can you do me a huge favour?" Merlin interrupted.

"Well yes, but-"

"Can you fetch me some water and some honey and lemon, if they have it?" Merlin asked.

"Of course, Merlin, but did you know that-"

"Thanks so much, Gwen, you're a life saver!" Merlin then quickly shut the door and turned around...and stared a moment...then opened the door again, looking for Gwen, who was still rooted to the spot. "And some rope?"

"Rope."

"Yeah, rope. Thanks Gwen, really, I owe you one."

"No problem?" She replied, uncertainly.

Merlin shut the door, turned back around and returned to his seat. Picking up the cloth again he dabbed carefully at Arthur's wound through the neck of his shirt. The bleeding had turned sluggish and his shirt was beginning to stiffen with it . "So...you woke up with her on top of you with a dagger...?" Merlin prompted.

"Right, and I threw her off, though she still managed to stab me. I don't know if it's that deep, I didn't even really feel it until now. At any rate, I grabbed my sword but she'd already backed off; I thought she was going to make a run for it. Instead she started muttering under her breath and before I knew it, I was being thrown into the wall and it was like invisible hands were choking me. That's pretty much when you came in."

"I see. Now take your shirt off," Merlin ordered. Arthur frowned but removed it with an exaggerated grunt of pain. Though the wound turned out to be mostly superficial it had bled enough that it coated Arthur from his chest to his ribs. It turned the water in the basin quickly pink, then red. It was a heavy reminder that Arthur wasn't infallible and it left a hollow feeling in Merlin's chest, a dread that he couldn't understand or explain. It made him forget about his current problems, which in a perverse way was of some relief.

"Thanks. By the way."

"Hmm?"

"For, you know, saving me."

"Oh, right. Well, that's alright," Merlin replied absently. Arthur glared at Merlin pointedly until he looked up. "What?"

"Nevermind."

Merlin pulled back, the wound now clean and glaringly obvious. It probably could have done with stitches - it was at one point quite deep but knowing Arthur, he'd just pull them open by stupidly returning to training at any rate. Gaius would definitely want to see it, most likely put a poultice on it and bandage it.

"I should have asked Gwen for bandages..." Merlin muttered. Arthur's ears perked up and he flinched under Merlin's fingers.

"...You saw Gwen?" Arthur asked in an overtly casual manner. Merlin frowned but nodded anyway.

"She's bringing up some honey and lemon. And rope."

"Rope?"

"For the girl," Merlin indicated the prone figure on the floor. "Did you want me to call the guard?"

The was a pregnant pause as Arthur mulled over the question carefully. Merlin was in two minds about it himself. On one hand, the young woman _had_ just tried to kill Arthur. On the other...he didn't think that she deserved being burnt at the stake for it. She didn't look like the typical attacker and her physical state spoke of a desperation that may have fueled her hatred towards the crown. Underlying that was uncertainty; had he, in some passive way triggered this?

"...No," Arthur finally replied, interrupting Merlin's thoughts. "No, not this time." His gaze drifted to the window, his eyebrows drawn together in heavy contemplation. Merlin used firm, but gentle fingers to tilt Arthur's head upward, examining the bruises on his neck and hissed in appreciation. Already the skin was turning purple, almost black at the clearly defined fingertips. Merlin spared a glance over his shoulder at the woman lying prone on the floor and lost an inch of sympathy for her. She had tried to kill the Prince, after all; despite her circumstances that was the unavoidable truth and he didn't honestly know how Arthur could so easily forgive that.

He turned back to Arthur as he felt the Prince swallow, the movement exaggerated due to his recent injury. Merlin did not envy him at this moment, not one jot. Even though he was a magic user in a kingdom that abhorred the practice of magic - and it's users - hidden right under the nose of the King no less, at least Merlin had his relative anonymity to keep him marginally safe. Arthur had no such luxury. Just by being who he was - Uther's son - he'd been born with a target painted on his back and everyone knew what Arthur looked like. Even dressed as a commoner, Arthur stood out.

"How does it look?" Arthur asked after a moment. Merlin had to shake himself from his reverie, blushed at having been caught staring and brought his attention back to matters at hand.

He forced a lopsided smile on his face as he withdrew his hands. "Probably as bad as it must feel. You might want to wear a scarf for a few weeks," he remarked jokingly. With a snort he added, "I can lend you one of mine, if you like!"

Arthur responded with a raised brow that so eloquently said, 'Are you an idiot?' and fought a grin that curled the corner of his mouth. "And ruin my image? I think not. Besides, I remember having to borrow your clothes once. They itched. And they smelled funny. Not to mention that I have a modicum of taste unlike some people I might-"

Arthur suddenly cut himself off and eyed Merlin disconcertingly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"What on _earth _are you wearing?"

"What? Oh!" Merlin's heart jumped up into his throat and he burst into a heated blush that had his ears prickling uncomfortably and his heart quickening. So that's what Gwen had been trying to say earlier. "Oh. Um...would it help to say that it's all Morgana's fault?" Merlin asked meekly, with a nervous grin as he unconsciously took a step back from the prince, whose mouth was parted in a frozen rictus of disbelief.

His brow's slowly leveled out and he drew his lips into a straight line until his face was carefully blank. The moment stretched out almost painfully before Arthur finally met Merlin's wary gaze. "You know, I can actually believe that," he murmured with little inflection. It was in that tone that usually made Merlin want to smack Arthur in the head.

All he did was release a sigh of relief and nearly jumped out of his skin at the knock on the door. Glad for an escape from Arthur's flat stare, he quickly went to the door. Gwen stood with a somewhat bemused, curious expression. Merlin ushered her in quickly, peeked down the hall then shut and bolted the door before turning back to Gwen with a grateful smile.

She gasped unexpectedly and nearly dropped the loaded tray in her arms, managing to hold onto it by many years of practice and sheer luck. "Merlin, you're hurt!"

"What? No I'm not!"

"But the blood!"

"Oh! No, it's not mine. Arthur's injured."

"No he's not," Gwen contradicted, after a quick glance at Arthur who regarded that statement like she'd turned bat-shit crazy.

"Er, the knife wound says otherwise, Gwen," Merlin asserted. Arthur nodded his agreement.

"What knife wound?" Gwen asked, stepping further into the room to get a better look at Arthur's shirtless chest. A blush immediately stained her cheeks and she almost as quickly averted her eyes. Arthur and Merlin shared a nonplussed look and Arthur shrugged his shoulder in incomprehension. Merlin's eyes flittered to his chest and he sprang across the room, startling everyone as he ran a disbelieving hand over Arthur's chest - which was completely unharmed. No scar, no welt, no sign at all that he'd been recently injured except the blood soaked shirt lying in a crumpled heap beside Arthur's chair and the sleeves of Merlin's shirt.

Finding nothing, Merlin frantically turned his attention to Arthur's throat urgently, roughly tilting his chin up as he examined his neck for injury. Apart from the lightest of yellow discolorations, the bruises were all but gone. One of Arthur's hands caught his own, drawing his gaze to his own startled expression. They remained frozen for a moment that felt more like a millennia.

In a voice tainted with disbelief, Merlin softly announced, "there's nothing there." Dread settled heavily in the pit of his stomach and tremors began to overtake his whole body. He pulled back from Arthur, yanking his hand free. He backed up and almost stood on the woman who'd laid unconscious and unaware despite all the drama around her. He kept retreating till his back hit the bedpost and there he stopped, pale and sweating and knowing that at this moment, his future relied on Arthur's conclusions.

"...Impossible," Arthur snapped. He stood and made his way over to the mirror that hung by the fireplace, to gaze at his reflection skeptically. Gwen's brow was creased in a frown and she kept shooting nervous glances between Merlin, the girl on the floor and Arthur.

Arthur ran a hand over his chest, right where the stab wound _should_ have been and checked the minimal bruising on his throat. Merlin's shivering was increasing tenfold, his legs almost gave out under him as Arthur turned his glare from his own reflection to Merlin's.

Abruptly, Arthur pivoted on his foot and approached Merlin with alarming speed, "It happened, it was real! You saw it, didn't you Merlin? Tell me you saw it!" Arthur demanded loudly, an edge of panic in his voice. Merlin nodded mutely and then did lose his footing, sliding to the foot of the bed, eyes round and glassy.

"Merlin!" Gwen cried, dropping her tray on the table as she rushed over. She sent a glare towards Arthur then knelt beside Merlin. "Merlin, are you alright?"

It took him a moment to register the question and he shook his head. He wasn't alright. Things were _not_ alright. They were only going to get worse, much worse. And everything was about to go tits-up very, very soon.

Merlin could feel himself unraveling at the seams. He'd healed Arthur. He'd _healed_ Arthur. Arthur. Son of Uther - the vindicator of magic and the man responsible for the wholesale slaughter of magic users within the realm of Camelot for over the past twenty years.

He hadn't even _wanted_ to heal Arthur with his magic. He'd been content to use traditional methods first and would never have resorted to magic for something that had clearly not been life-threatening. He could feel his control tearing apart like and old, frayed hessian sack that had borne too much weight; too weak to hold together. He couldn't hear Gwen's continued probing, couldn't bear to witness the look of dawning realisation clouding Arthur's face and he couldn't stomach the thought that the look of utter disbelief would suddenly turn into blinding hatred. All he could do was stare at his shaking hands and even that became an incomprehensible blur as his eyes began prickling with unbidden tears. But he could See the magic begin to roil beneath his skin like light reflected in the ripples of a crystalline lake. And he could feel it, overwhelming everything, crumbling the last of his tightly held control.

In that moment Merlin hated his magic with more abhorrence and more fervor than he'd ever hated anything in his short - now probably much shorter life.

It was going to ruin everything; it was going to take him away from the home he had found, the place that he'd built for himself. All the friends he'd made, the faith, the trust, the camaraderie that he'd forged with Arthur, with Gwen, with Gaius, Lancelot and even Morgana. At that moment, horrifyingly, he sympathised with all Uther's misgivings about magic. Magic was going to kill everything that Merlin had created that had ever been good in his life.

Dimly Merlin registered the sound of a door slamming, seemingly from far away, though he didn't flinch, didn't move. He buried his face in his hands and tried with every last vestige of will he had to stop the magic from pouring out. His breath rasped in his throat, each intake faster, shallower then the last and he could feel himself rocking back and forth, knees drawn tightly to his chest, the occasional sob escaping involuntarily. And slowly he could feel the last ropes of restraint pull taut, some snapping with an almost physical force, till there was nothing but a thread to keep him from being completely swept up in the tide.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know that the dust on the floor was practically dancing its way out the window, nor that the clothes Arthur had carelessly tossed around the room were squirming, writhing until they lay neatly in a stack. He could feel in his bones the sheets on the bed sliding into place, tidy, clean and perfectly laid - more perfect than Merlin tended to do it since he normally was in a rush. Distantly he could even hear the sounds of the castle; the whispered conversations, the scrape of chain-mail on stone as a guard shifted positions at his station, the sounds of sword hitting sword from the practice field where a pair of nobles were dueling for their honour. A million different voices, from the King himself pacing agitatedly within his own chambers, to the scullery boy who was hidden in the pantry, helping himself to some stolen ale, they were all there, in his head. A cacophony of thought, of sound, of dark and light, of magic, of hatred and love. Ghosts, fairies, humans, animals, spirits - all clamouring together as one unbroken wall of sound pressing in on Merlin like a migraine, though even that couldn't overcome his own immediate thoughts, which ran along the line of, _ohshitohshitohshitohshitohsh itwhatamIgoingtodo-_

_"-LIN!"_

All sound stopped.

Merlin's head snapped up and he was trapped in Arthur's frozen, intense stare.

Not just sound - the entire world had stopped, poised on this moment... Merlin felt the press of time and knew that he had frozen it. Arthur's hands were in a painful grip around both his wrists, he was on his knees, leaning close, his nose a hand span from Merlin's. His golden brow creased in concern and teeth bared on the last syllable of his name. The moment stretched out, captivating and confusing and dreamlike. Time was slowly reasserting itself and if Merlin hadn't been panicking before, he certainly was now. Arthur's face, with excruciating slowness was morphing from an expression of great concern to abject horror and disbelief and Merlin knew why.

His eyes weren't prickling merely from tears. They were burning bright gold, reflected in the pair staring, horrified into his own.

The last thread of control snapped.

Time crashed in like a bucket of ice-cold water down his back. He reeled and Arthur thrust himself backwards, stumbling as he did so, staring at Merlin as though he had grown horns. He might as well have. The fear, the horror, the burgeoning distrust would have been enough, but Merlin couldn't bear the betrayal that he saw in Arthur's eyes and hear within his thoughts, which he could feel them all the way down to his marrow.

Merlin scrambled to his feet gracelessly, not bothering to wipe his face free of the tears, not trusting to look away from Arthur. Arthur didn't seem as vigilant, his eyes instead darting from each involuntary act of magic, from one to another and there was a lot of that going on. Candles were lighting then blowing out only to light again, the gold embroidery on the burgundy curtains were writhing like ferns caught in the wind, the lovers within the tapestry hung by the door were laughing soundlessly, the woman carding her fingers lovingly through the knight's hair as he lay with his head in her lap. In the fireplace flame danced, _danced_ like tiny figures prancing gaily within the coals and Arthur's boots righted themselves where they'd been lying haphazardly by the table.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice had taken on a pitiful, pleading edge, asking, _begging_ Merlin to deny that he was the source. Merlin could do nothing but let out an aggrieved sob. He couldn't handle it anymore. Not the lies, not the fear, not the accusations and he couldn't handle the way Arthur was looking at him most of all.

"I am _so sorry_, Arthur," Merlin whimpered. "Please, don't hate me, please, I'm, I, I-" he broke off, clapped a hand to his mouth and fled.

* * *

"Did you know?!"

Gaius looked up from his book, startled by the Prince's sudden appearance first and his words second. He raised a hand to his heart, but his pulse didn't settle. Gaius buried his initial panic; Arthur could be referring to any number of things. _Though probably not_. Instead he glowered at the Prince and in his best put-out tone enquired, "and to what precisely are you referring?" raising his eyebrow loftily.

"To Merlin, that's what!"

Gaius looked to the door of his rooms, thrown wide by Arthur's temper. "Close the door and lower your voice, you foolish boy!" Gaius reprimanded him caustically, voice low, eyes narrowed. Arthur's jaw dropped aghast, having never heard Gaius, or anyone other than his Father, or Merlin - for that matter - talk to him in that tone. After a long drawn out moment Arthur did as he was bid, his mouth still agape as he approached the old man with a new wariness. "And close your mouth, you look like a stunned mullet."

Arthur's jaw snapped shut with a click, still too shocked to respond.

"Are you trying to get him - and me - killed?" Gaius demanded angrily. Without waiting for a response he continued on, "do you know how many times that boy has put his neck out for you? Has saved you? Have you any concept of the risk that Merlin lives with day in and day out? No?"

At Arthur's confused expression, Gaius quieted his indignation. He hadn't meant to let his temper escape him like that. His life would have been made easier if he could feign ignorance but the righteous anger in Arthur's eyes had stopped him. Merlin had, in a way, stopped him. His past, a life in which he'd done nothing, helped no one but himself would not let him turn his back this time. He couldn't. And Arthur needed to know the truth or he would end up hating magic just as much as his Father and for Merlin's sake and for his own, he couldn't allow that to happen.

"Arthur, sit down." Gaius was distantly amused at Arthur's stunned obedience. He'd have to tell Merlin about this if-_ when_ he saw him again. Gaius took in a careful breath. "I knew," he announced with a deep sigh. The admission was going to cost him, greatly, no doubt but Gaius' conscience had never felt lighter.

Arthur drew a shaky hand through his hair, dishevelling the golden locks at that announcement. His jaw worked furiously, clenching in a concerted effort to maintain his temper. "How long?" he managed, his voice wavering and hoarse.

"The day I met him. He saved my life as he has many times since."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up questioningly. It looked as though he was about to say something, but indecision stayed his tongue and Gaius let Arthur mull over this new grain of information, anticipating a world of questions.

"...All those times, when I was sure I was done for and things suddenly turned out...It was him, wasn't it?"

"Only he could really answer that question, Arthur. I can only tell you what I know, and what I _do _know is that Merlin would never use magic to harm you, or anyone else if he could help it."

"But he has used magic on me, hasn't he?"

"I couldn't say."

"How do you know he doesn't have you under some sort of spell? What if he's been plotting against us all, this entire time, and is just, I don't know, waiting for the right moment?"

Gaius scoffed. "Really, Arthur. Merlin? I think you give the boy too much credit. Merlin is no evil mastermind. _You know him_, Arthur. Do you honestly believe him capable of such duplicity? Honestly, that boy couldn't lie if his life depended on it."

"But he has lied, Gaius!" Arthur shouted in response. He stood up gesturing wildly. "Every day he's lied to us! Right to our faces. I have _no idea_ who the real Merlin is! No one does! For all we know, he _could _be plotting ways to kill us."

"Is that what you honestly believe?" Gaius snapped. "Because if that is the case, we can end this discussion now. I won't hear another word against him. Merlin is a good man, and you know him, Arthur, probably better than anyone else here, even me."

"But you knew about his magic."

"That doesn't mean he shares everything with me."

"Why would he tell you and not me?"

"Would you, if you were in his position? You are your father's son and you are duty bound to follow his laws. Can you honestly say that you would not put Merlin before your Father?"

Arthur was silent a moment, eyebrows drawn together in a cross line, though his confusion was evident. "Well, when I first met him...now..."

"Who else knows, Arthur, have you told anyone about Merlin?" Gaius demanded.

"No one. Gwen might be a bit suspicious, but she didn't see anything worth mentioning."

"And where's Merlin?"

"I don't know. I thought he'd come back here."

Gaius raised an eyebrow at that. "I haven't seen him since he ran out of here about an hour ago." he paused before adding. "He seemed to be under the impression that you might be in a bit of trouble."

Arthur's response was a strangled grunt.

"What happened, Arthur?"

"...I was being attacked by a witch."

Gaius felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. This was not a good development, not that anything recently had seemed to be going well for Merlin. Gaius just prayed that it was a matter of coincidence; he didn't want to give credence to Merlin's theory, but it was looking a little more likely now than it had a moment ago. Gaius marshalled himself and directed another question at Arthur. "And what was Merlin's part in all this?"

Arthur turned red and studiously avoided eye contact, mumbling almost to himself. "He _maybekindofsavedme."_

_"_Pardon?"

"He saved me, alright! He came barreling into the room and knocked the girl unconscious. Then when he was patching me up, he healed me, Gaius! He healed me but he freaked out and things just started happening and his eyes glowed gold. It was like he didn't know what was going on any better than I did. He ran off not long after that."

"...Doesn't much sound like the act of an evil mastermind, now does it?" Gaius replied gently.

Arthur's face flushed in shame and he mumbled an apology to him.

"What happened to the woman?" Gaius asked.

"I had Gwen take her down to the kitchens; the girl was half-starved. Gwen said she'd clean her up and get Morgana to find a place for her in one of the visiting families' entourage."

"That's very...forgiving of you, very understanding."

"You didn't see her, she barely had the energy to hold onto the knife she had with her."

Gaius studied Arthur, weighing his next words carefully. He'd probably pushed the limits of acceptable behaviour for the next two lifetimes. "I wonder, Arthur...If you can find it in your heart to forgive a stranger, surely Merlin deserves no less consideration." Gaius paused, watching Arthur's expression carefully. "Think about it."

Arthur grimaced, but nodded then quickly made his way out the door. Gaius had given him a lot to consider.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur, however, didn't get much of a chance to think things over. There was another feast to attend and he left for the dining hall directly, in no way eager to return to his room after the day he'd had. Arthur supposed it served him right for napping in the afternoon instead of attending training like he had planned. Normally he would have gone, instead he'd found himself unable able to resist the call of his bed sheets. Considering the attack that followed, he began to wonder if that wasn't also part of the witch's machinations.

The feast had kept him occupied well into the night and when he eventually gave in and returned to his rooms, it was to fall into an exhausted heap, too tired even to worry about the unnatural events that had occurred earlier that day. He awoke the next morning with a summons from the King and lingered only long enough to dress before making his way to the long hall, where his father held counsel.

Arthur cleared his throat gently,"you wanted to see me?"

Uther continued to read the document in his hands. "...Yes," he affirmed absently. The silence stretched out endlessly and had Arthur gritting his teeth in impatience. He hated when his father did this. It was one of the methods that Uther used to subtly remind Arthur of his place. He did it with everyone, though, and Arthur felt ashamed that it still bothered him so much. But he was his son, for goodness' sake. You'd think he'd show some affection, or pleasure instead of treating him with the same indifference that he showed everyone. But even there his father denied him.

Eventually Uther acknowledged him with a momentary glance. "I've heard some alarming reports," Uther started. Arthur remained silent. "According to the guards, there was a disturbance in your room earlier; the sounds of yelling, fighting. Care to explain?"

"It was a misunderstanding, Father, all is resolved," Arthur replied evasively. Uther's frown deepened and Arthur fought to maintain a neutral expression as his father eyed him suspiciously.

"There were also rumours that a woman was later removed from your rooms."

"Nothing more than rumours, father. I _think_ I would have noticed a woman in my chambers," Arthur responded with a lopsided smile and a slightly puzzled expression, inwardly praying that his father bought the act.

"Be that as it may, I trust that you will be more discreet in future dealings. We don't need those sort of mutterings tarnishing the Pendragon name. Am I understood?"

Arthur unclenched his jaw, "Yes, Father, was there anything else?"

"I need you to take a group of knights and patrol the road. Apparently there have been bandit attacks along the stretch that runs through the forest to the north. It also appears that they have a sorcerer with them. I need you to validate these claims and if there is any truth to it, you have permission to kill the sorcerer and his allies on sight."

Arthur's insides turned cold. The moment he'd heard the word sorcerer, his thoughts had immediately jumped to his manservant. He straightened his spine and tried to rid himself of his sudden worry that Merlin was even remotely involved and nodded. "Of course, Father, I'll leave as soon as I can assemble a group."

Uther waved his hand dismissively, returning to whatever conversation that he'd disrupted upon his arrival. Arthur left with a frown, reluctantly making his way to his room. He intercepted a servant on the way and instructed him to gather his most trusted knights in the courtyard in an hours time. He named seven men he knew would best suit the task and continued on to his chambers.

It was quiet in there, peaceful, like nothing more exciting had ever visited it, bar the occasional nightmare. It was like yesterday had never happened or that Merlin had never happened. The thought didn't sit right with him. The way that life seemed to go on uninterrupted, how everything had seemingly returned to what classified as normal around Camelot was baffling, but the wheels continued to turn, people went about their business in an endless cycle of wake, eat, work, eat, sleep. And somehow it all felt hollow, not-right.

Arthur could put off preparing no longer and went about packing his supply bags, checking his weaponry and equipment and was about to call out for a servant to help him with his armour when a soft knock on his door startled him. He opened it cautiously, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise and a blush immediately tinged his cheeks pink. Gwen stood in the door, resplendent in her soft lavender dress, a blush to match his, and a slightly apologetic expression. Arthur's heart jumped into his throat and thoughts of his pending mission flew from his head. "Gwen, I-"

He didn't get further as Morgana, who'd been standing, overlooked next to Gwen pushed her way past Arthur with an aggravated huff and stalked to the centre of his room, then whirled around to glare fiercely at him, her brow furrowed and her mouth pulled into an angry white line across her face.

Arthur groaned inwardly. He was becoming increasingly too familiar with Morgana storming his room to throw a tantrum of some sort about something he'd supposedly done to offend her. Last month it had been him chewing too loud at the dinner table - though it had taken some time to get to the root of Morgana's actual problem. There had been another execution that morning and it had deeply unsettled her. He didn't understand why her reaction to it had been so violent, but he wasn't unsympathetic; the person had been around the same age as them. Now that he thought about it, Merlin had been uncharacteristically silent and had finished his duties rather quickly, then disappeared early on, mumbling about gathering herbs for Gaius. It was easy in retrospect to understand his servant's strange behaviour, since it had been a sorcerer that was but Morgana would always be a mystery to him.

"Where's Merlin?" She demanded and Arthur was momentarily thrown for a loop.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Merlin, where is he!" She all but snapped. Arthur sent a questioning look at Gwen who did little but shrug, clearly as nonplussed as him.

"I don't know?" Arthur responded uneasily, his eyes darting from one woman to another.

"So help me, Arthur, if I've found out you've upset him again, if he's run off-"

Affronted, Arthur cut Morgana off mid-stream. "Hold on, again? When have I upset him?" Morgana's eyes widened in disbelief and her mouth dropped open. "Recently, I mean."

"Gwen told me about yesterday and besides that, don't you remember last week when you called him a 'colossal idiot' and he threw a vase at you?"

"As I recall, he dropped the vase on my foot and _then_ I called him a colossal idiot. What of it? I've called him worse before, and he to me, the cheeky bugger. Lucky I didn't throw him in the stocks."

"Well he stormed out of the room in tears, Arthur. _Tears. _It took Gwen and I hours to calm him down." This was news to Arthur. He vaguely remembered the occasion. It had happened not long before Arthur had sent Merlin on his little vacation. Now that he was thinking about it, it _had_ struck him as a little odd. Merlin normally would have returned with an insulting or patronising comment that Arthur wouldn't pick up on until he'd thought on it for half a day before realising that he'd been made a mockery of. That time, however, Merlin's lower lip had trembled, his eyes had gone glassy, he'd taken a shuddering breath and then slammed the door behind him in his wake, leaving Arthur staring for an extended moment at the door, dumbfounded, before he had been able to shake himself and carry on.

"I-really?"

Morgana huffed noisily and maintained her glare, squinting at him as she waited impatiently for an answer to her initial question.

"Morgana, despite what you may think of me, I don't go out of my way to make Merlin feel like an idiot." A raised eyebrow. "All of the time," he amended. "Look, that's how we communicate. I call him an idiot, he calls me an arrogant ass or clot-pole or any number of strange and I daresay made up insults, I return by telling him he's a girl, he ripostes, I respond in kind, then Merlin comes out with a random statement about plankton, we stare at each other a moment and laugh, then get on with it. It's how we bond."

Gwen and Morgana gaped at him, their expressions identical in their disbelief. They shared a sideways glance. "_That's _how men bond..?" Morgana stage-whispered, aghast.

Arthur thought on it a moment, mirth tugging his mouth into a lopsided grin as he nodded. "Pretty much. And no, Morgana, I haven't seen him. Perhaps he decided to go visit his mother."

If possible, Morgana's eyes widened further before regarding Arthur with a look normally reserved for the village idiot. "In this weather, with Winter fast approaching? Don't be absurd, Arthur. I know it's a struggle but I'm sure there are some brains in there somewhere. You could try using them for a change," she sniped.

Arthur's jaw was creaking with the effort of not replying with something equally nasty; he didn't have time to get into another row with Morgana right now, and a fight with her could take days, given the proper provocation. "This is _Mer_lin we're talking about here," Arthur reminded them around clenched teeth.

It seemed that even with his considerable restraint, Morgana was spoiling for a fight regardless, outraged by Arthur's response. "How can you say that!?" she cried, her voice indignant. "He might be your servant but we all know that he's more than that. He's your _friend,_ Arthur! Don't you even care what's happened to him?!"

"He's a big boy, he can look after himself," Arthur deadpanned, resisting the urge to start tapping his foot in impatience. Morgana scoffed, shared a look with Gwen and turned back to Arthur with a bemused expression.

"That _boy_ attracts more trouble than a loose purse at a port-side tavern! And have you seen his sword skills? Atrocious!"

"Hang on, I call him an idiot and I'm being unkind. You call him useless and that's ok?"

"Lies! I never said that!"

"Wha-yes you did!"

"No I didn't! I said he's a poor swordsman. I'm sure there are many tasks he's capable of that don't require stabbing things, but if he were to run into bandits or wolves...or an irritated badger, he could be in serious trouble!"

Arthur suppressed a snort at the mental image of Merlin fighting off a badger before running a hand over his brow in frustration. "I can't believe I'm still listening to all of this. Look, I don't have time. I've got to go root out those bandits and possibly an _irritated badger _or two. Now! If you two _don't_ mind, I have places to go, things to kill so unless you're going to help me with my armor, I suggest you both get back to whatever it...is...that...girls do."

Morgana sputtered in indignation, "Why ah-"

"I'll take care of it," Gwen stepped in hastily, cutting off Morgana before she could work herself into a tirade, while throwing Arthur a glare that had him squirming in his boots.

Morgana scowled but was clearly fighting to take the higher ground. She stormed towards the door but paused before exiting. "Mark my words, Arthur Pendragon." Oh no. He _knew_ he was in trouble when she referred to him by his full name. "If I find that you had anything to do with Merlin's disappearance you will wish I'd never been born." The door snapped shut loudly behind her and the room fell silent as he digested her oddly worded threat.

"...Touchy..." he murmured glancing to Gwen with a smirk that dropped from his face the moment he caught her terse expression. With more force than necessary, she handed him his chain mail, slapping it into his waiting hand as she stared reprovingly - and unrelentingly - as he pulled it on, the next piece of armor clenched tightly between her fingers.

"Gwen, I, look it-" Arthur's voice failed him as Gwen turned her gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes for more than a brief moment as she helped him into his gear. Her hands were shaking with a fine tremor that grew more noticeable as the intense silence became more uncomfortable as each second passed. Arthur moistened his lips and attempted to breach the awkwardness stifling the room. "Gwen, I didn't _me-"_

"You know, Arthur, we may not go out hunting or _killing things_, we might not fight and die in wars or against bandits and thieves but that doesn't mean that we contribute nothing. We don't _do nothing, _Arthur!" Gwen's voice was rising, her words coming out in a rush. Arthur didn't try to stop her, unsure exactly what he should be doing in such a situation and he could only watch in wide-eyed amazement as this servant girl again surprised him. "We watch as our men - our fathers, our brothers and sons - go out and get themselves skewered on our enemies weapons, we wait, never knowing if we'll see them again and if they come back, whether they'll be the same men as when they left! We keep our homes, our lives running while inside our hearts, a piece of us dies _everyday_ while we live in uncertainty and we are made _powerless_ to do anything to help out on the battlefield by some strange male notion of chivalry!

"We're not flowers, Arthur, we don't sit around embroidering cushions all day and given the opportunity many a woman would want to be out there, standing beside her man, defending this country but you men sequester us away in ivory towers and think romantic thoughts about us, write poems about our delicacy and softness and _frailty_ and never once think that what we go through isn't as terrifying and horrible as what you endure.

"Who mends the wounds? Who holds the hands of the dying when they're brought back in broken pieces? Who is it that holds them when they wake up screaming and crying uncontrollably? We do, Arthur. Not because we want to but because it's the only thing we _can_ do! And it tears us up inside that we can't do more and it kills us that what little men allow us to do for them is disregarded and so _meaningless_ to you that some days it's hard to not hurt you ourselves!" Gwen's eyes glittered, but she held back her tears, meeting Arthur's gaze warily, knowing she'd overstepped her bounds and more.

The silence permeated the room and Arthur swallowed and again, trying to bring some coherent thought to the fore. He'd never really thought what it had meant to Gwen, watching him march off, knowing that it might be the last time. Without prompting his hand came up to caress her cheek, his calloused thumb gently grazing her soft skin, wiping away an errant tear that fell from her lashes. Her hand came to rest on his chest and she met his gaze, still fiery but full of sorrow and affection.

The silence was broken by the distant call of the town crier and both startled and took a step back. With reluctant hands, Gwen tightened the cinches on his spaulders and helped to assemble the rest of his armor. All too soon he was ready to leave, no part of him wanting to in the least but his pride and his honour and his King demanded it.

"...I'd best be off..."

Gwen nodded and attempted a smile, though it wobbled and fell. She bowed her head and stepped to the side deferentially as Arthur finished securing his weapons and travel bags before stepping through the door. He didn't look back.

* * *

He ran. The wind bit at his face, roots attempted to pull his feet from under him, branches scratched raw lines across his cheek and his breath burned in his lungs. He kept running, till his legs were on fire, till the tears mixed in with the sweat, till night had wrung the definition and colour from the landscape. He ran till the surroundings blurred before him, till he no longer recognised the world that flew past him. He ran while daylight bled back over the hills and gilded the treetops with warm golden light and when the clouds converged to hide away the sky and rain streamed down in a heavy torrent he continued to race across the land, faster and more recklessly than a hunted beast. And when he finally stopped, he fell; lay panting and exhausted and broken on the forest floor, cold seeping into his bones, shaking with both the chill and adrenaline spent. And as he lay there, breath moving his lung like a bellows, the magic pulsated around him, wound through him and burst like a ray of light, so hard and harsh, it pierced the overcast sky. Blissful, wonderful blackness crawled in around the edges of his vision, till there was nothing left to see, till there was nothing left to feel. Just cold, beautiful emptiness.

* * *

With a steady stride, Arthur made his way through the halls of Camelot, his body lined with tension, a sense of foreboding clenching his gut. Every noise had him on edge, every inexplicable shadow making him flinch and although he kept his eyes firmly pointed forward, he was still hyper-aware of his surroundings. So when he failed to notice the presence until the frail, birdlike hand had jerked out and pulled him into an adjoining hallway to come face-to-face with last night's would-be assassin, it was with shock and not a little humiliation. He was, however, given very little time to berate himself for it.

It took mere seconds to recognise yesterday's attacker, despite her having washed, dressed in a servant's uniform and provided a decent meal and even less time to wrap his hand tightly around the grip of his sword. Arthur couldn't say what stopped him from running her through right then and there or call out to the guards but he staid his weapon and held his tongue.

Her voice, when she spoke, was reedy and thin, "what you seek is not what you will find. What you find will lead you to _where_ you seek but time alone will deliver the answer to you. Make haste, no! Wait...ride forth. Find the walking skeletons. Dance with the dead. Let Sol's consort die, then live and become whole. You must ride. Ride with the wolves and paint the world red. Run! Chase down the life-giver, find the place where hoarfrost takes no hold. There you will find your heart's shield. Go, give in. Become traitor. Come home. Come home whole. Take hold of the land and bring it from darkness. Go forth!"

Arthur could hardly comprehend his inaction, let alone worm his way through a riddle; he could only continue to stare at the woman with the glazed and unseeing stare. Abruptly she blinked, shook her head and stepped around Arthur as if he were a statue, her gaze no less vague or unfocused. He watched her drift down the hallway until she disappeared around the corner and had to rally himself before he could resume his own journey.

He did so more slowly than when he'd originally set out and arrived at the courtyard where seven of his men were assembled and waiting, some already astride their mounts, others in different states of repose; standing, sitting and crouching in a rough semi-circle. Arthur nodded his head in greeting, attempting to clear the cobwebs from his mind as he returned to the business at hand.

He didn't offer any speeches, only asked that they double check their supplies before they head out. With everything settled for the moment, Arthur and his men set out at a steady, brisk pace. Villagers peered out from windows and lined along the streets to watch as they passed. Some offered waves, one or two inclined their heads in respect but the weather kept their salutations brief. The air was cold, the sky a bruised sort of purple, promising storms - not the most ideal of weather, but typical being this close to winter. The wind howled through the streets, tossing dried leaves across the muddied ground and tugged at cloaks like a grasping lover.

It was at times like these that Arthur was eager for the onslaught of winter. While the season sometimes encouraged wolves to venture closer to town in search of food and made honest men desperate, those were unusual occurrences and easy enough to deal with, but this torturous approach of the season always seemed filled with chaos, danger and growing uncertainty. At least with the snow, the worst of the trouble was held at bay by blankets of white, bone-chilling temperatures and pelting snow-storms. People very often stayed indoors rather than risk certain death outside. Though even winter was not without its troubles. Cabin fever often had castle inhabitants being tetchier than usual, and that in itself presented a whole world of new challenges. It was also the season of court intrigue, when there was little to occupy the minds of the nobles other than their own scheming and affairs.

Arthur startled from his thoughts as a severe gust of wind bit at his face; they'd left the protection of the city walls and ahead of them lay the road, a brown smudge through the grey and desolate land surrounding it. This mission was looking less and less desirable as each moment passed. He could sense the displeasure of his men; their loyalty, honor and fealty to the crown the only thing keeping them steady on course. The party remained stuck in a strained silence, the plodding of their horses' shoes against the ground and the metallic clink of their tack the only sound other than the rustling of the wind as it rushed through the dying grass of the valley.

For some time they maintained their speed and their silence and only stopped some hours later so they could rest and water their horses. The sky had turned darker, more threatening and Arthur was loathe to continue at this point, except to find some shelter. It wouldn't be long before the heavens burst and soaked them to their bones; their task was unpleasant enough without them being drenched through and through. "We'll continue to the town of Bree," Arthur announced once his men had gathered again. "We'll hold up there for the night and hope for better weather in the morning. There's no point in getting there fast if you're too sick to fight. However, if it doesn't clear up by tomorrow, I'm afraid we're all going to have to risk it. Mount up."

At least the remaining distance to the town was small. Bree hardly qualified for more than a village, but it had an Inn with a stable attached and was famous for its' local cider. If they pushed their mounts a little faster to reach it, no one was complaining. It wasn't till they were firmly ensconced at a table within the tavern that the silence truthfully broke. All nine of them crowded around two tables by the fire, each with a mug in front of them, relieved from the drudgery of travel.

"Ah!" Galahad slapped his hand against the table, startling the others. "I figured it out!"

"Figured what out?" Sir Kay asked wearily, leaning back in his chair.

"What's missing," Galahad replied, a smirk on his face. All around the tables each man let out a groan.

"What's missing?" Sir Pelleas enquired dutifully. He was the youngest in the group, only newly knighted and for whatever reason had found in Galahad a mentor of sorts. Lord only knew why.

"You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed _what?" _Arthur said through gritted teeth. Galahad, though stalwart, trustworthy and a mean hand with a sword was also an annoying little prick sometimes.

"What's missing!"

Sir Liam bared his teeth in a growl and slammed his tankard on the table with a loud thud and a slop of his drink, "for Christ and Country, Galahad, just spit it out!"

"Merlin," Galahad replied with a flourish of his hand. He then took a deep sip of cider and lounged back in his chair, looking quite pleased with himself. The table was silent as each man looked around and in unison an "Aah," of revelation escaped the others. Arthur just groaned and would have put his head in his hand, but restrained himself, settling on glaring at Galahad, who returned the look with amused innocence.

"where _is _ Merlin?" Pelleas asked, brow creased in concern. Trust Pelleas to ask. Though the boy was young, only just turned twenty, he was a mountain; broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, thick jawed and about a foot taller than everyone else in the kingdom. Intimidating was putting it lightly but as with many people of large stature, it only figured that he was all mush in the middle. He acted with almost maternal protectiveness when around Merlin - Merlin being so skinny and shorter by comparison, even if he was an inch or two taller than Arthur - because Merlin wasn't a warrior and it made Pelleas all the more wary about Merlin's safety. The green knight had only really been travelling with Arthur and his knights for a few months, so was still not used to seeing Merlin standing unscathed after a foray with bandits in the woods or a bar room brawl. Of course, once all danger was over, Merlin still managed to catch his foot on a root or bar stool and end up in a world of hurt. Arthur supposed it was part of his charm.

The others voiced their curiosity as well, all eyes turned towards their prince. "Uh, he's, doing some...errands...for Gaius today..." Arthur replied weakly. There were a few raised brows but no comments; he was the Prince after all. "Anyway, enough of this. Finish your drinks and get some rest, we'll be leaving early tomorrow." He stood abruptly and marched upstairs to his room, leaving the others to watch his retreating back.

It had only felt like moments from when his head had hit the lumpy pillow to now, waking to the sound of a rooster's crowing. His feet were cold and his arm stiff from lying on it awkwardly and even though he'd not had much to drink, he was still feeling seedy and grouchy. Not wanting to delay his stay, he settled for only washing his face and under his arms with the hand basin, quickly donning his travel clothes and heading downstairs. It was still and quiet in the main room. The innkeeper gave him a sleepy nod of acknowledgement from his place behind the bar where he was setting up for the day to come. No other patrons were awake. Arthur took a seat at the table they'd commandeered the night before and poked at the banked fire, stirring the embers and throwing on another log to warm the room. It helped alleviate the gloom of the Inn, making the place a little more cozy and Arthur a lot more reluctant to leave it. Though he would have been more comfortable if he'd slept on his bed roll in the barn (ignoring the associated smells) - the bed had been lumpy and hard in places - the inn was well maintained, the sheets had been clean and the serving staff accommodating and when it boiled right down to it, Arthur simply did not want to arrive at his task.

The idea that he had free reign to slaughter people - even criminals - didn't sit well with him. This whole situation he was riding into just didn't feel right, and considering the timing of it - the very day after Merlin had fled the castle, it had Arthur's hackles up. He tried to consider the possibility that Merlin may be involved and had to pause. Outright, Arthur couldn't simply dismiss it as an impossible scenario. Once, he'd known Merlin, had known that there wasn't a single vicious or evil bone in his body. Merlin would let spiders free instead of killing them, much to Arthur's unending distress - being chased by giant arachnids had certainly seen to that embarrassingly resilient phobia. But now...how much of what he'd known or _thought_ he'd known about Merlin was even remotely true? Despite what Gaius said, he didn't know Merlin. He hadn't known his most important secret and probably wouldn't have had any clue to it, had events played out differently. Merlin was a contradiction. A pitiful liar in most cases yet apparently a master at deception. How much was ruse? How much was real? Arthur couldn't even ask the man in question, with no idea where he'd disappeared to.

His first thought was to head towards Ealdor; it was the most likely place that Merlin would retreat, but Merlin also knew that Arthur was aware of that and if he feared for his own life, he would also fear for his Mother's and he'd know that his very presence could well endanger her.

Arthur stirred from his thoughts as his men trampled groggily down the stairs. The only one who looked even half awake was Liam, the oldest out of the assembled knights and the one most used to travel. Galahad appeared rightly hung over - he must have had one tankard or two more than the others after Arthur had left. Pelleas was surprisingly subdued - Arthur had always figured him for a morning person - and Kay was leaning on Sir Orlin's shoulder drowsily. The other two knights, Daffydd and Erst were looking as awake as Pelleas. Arthur's mouth drew down into a frown. This day was not looking promising.

They didn't stay long after assembling, just long enough to refresh their supplies and pick up a dry breakfast they could eat on the road. They stumbled into a grey and bleak morning. The ground, where not covered in a fine layer of dew was soaked with last nights' downpour and their boots were soon coated in a thick layer of mud. The air was crisp and their breaths fogged before their noses. Steam curled off the bodies of their mounts who appeared as subdued as their respective riders, necks hung low. Arthur pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and without waiting for his men, mounted Caesar and nudged him into a light canter. He heard his men follow suit, the trampling gait of seven horses were a thundering comfort behind him.

They travelled at an easy pace until midday, then stopped to water and feed their horses as well as give themselves a break from the saddle. It had drizzled off and on during the ride; the sun was making a tentative appearance from a break in the clouds and the men were glad for the temporary reprieve. Though it was no time at all before they'd remounted and continued on their quest.

They approached the forest far too soon for Arthur's liking; he was dreading the encounter for more reasons than he'd care to admit. The knights sat straighter in their saddles as the forest came into view. Before they hit the treeline, Arthur pulled them aside to organise their plan of attack.

"First things first, we need to ascertain our enemy's numbers, their strengths, their weakness and the terrain. I want Kay, Pelleas, and Liam in one group, Erst, Orlin, you're with me. Galahad and Daffydd, you're to stay and guard the camp, tend the horses and keep an eye on our supplies. The bandits are most likely holed up in the clearing beyond Tierre's Passage. The passage itself is reported to be where the attacks are occurring. It's an ideal place to ambush travellers; though the footing is treacherous and the path narrow, it's a popular thoroughfare since, unlike the main road it cuts directly through the forest and it's sheltered by the ridge on either side of the path, which also makes a great vantage point for archers.

"We'll head out at dusk. Kay, I want your group to head in from the west and scout the surrounding area as you head towards the passage. We'll do the same from the east. Take care, don't get caught and don't try to be heroic. This is a simple reconnaissance mission. Once you've discovered as much as you can, head back here and we'll decide what to do from there."

His men nodded in understanding accompanied by some good-natured grousing from Galahad who'd much rather join the scouting party then set up camp. Having sampled Galahad's attempt at stew on a previous mission, Arthur would have considered bringing him along, except his appalling grasp of cooking was only out-shined by his inability to stay quiet for more than a handful of minutes. Galahad was not built for stealth.

Before the men set out, they had to water, tether and brush down their respective mounts; they wouldn't be able to move quietly through the undergrowth on horseback and after the miserable ride, they appreciated the opportunity to stand on their own two legs. The horses certainly didn't seem to mind the reprieve. Everyone assisted in setting up camp a short walk from the road, among a small copse of heather. Daffydd was volunteered to cook and the men had to hold in their complaints about the taste. It wasn't gag-inducing, but it was not exactly what one could call appetising. Edible, maybe; they'd grown spoiled on Merlin's hot-pot. Not that Merlin was much of a cook either but the knights could hold no candle to his speciality Rabbit stew.

As time for them to move approached, a thrill of excitement managed to worm its way through Arthur's veins, making his fingers clench and unclench with anticipation. Though he was not in the least enthused by the mission in and of itself, like the promise of a hunt it was enough to ignite the part of him that relished scraping over rocks and passing through trees unnoticed by his quarry.

It was almost with relief that he signalled his men to march out. The sun had well and truly dipped below the horizon, but it's light clung determinedly to the treetops and hills. Everything had become muted and difficult to distinguish yet still bright enough that despite the occasional misstep, the terrain was relatively easy to navigate. After the drizzle throughout the day, the sky was mercifully clear, stars shining feebly at first but growing in number and intensity as the men travelled further into the depths of the forest and night slowly crept in. Around them, the calls of owls, and other nocturnal creatures kept them company and helped disguise the occasional muffled curse as a foot tripped over an unexpected root or cloaks snagged in the underbrush. It soon turned out that their attempts at stealth would be unnecessary.

They heard the camp before they saw it. The sound of conversation, metal clanking against metal and most alarmingly the wailing of a small child bled through the trees as they approached. They had no sentries posted, which sent up an alarm in Arthur's head. Determinedly he signalled his men to move closer. The scent of smoke from a cook-fire drifted over to them, the accompanying food smells not in the least appetising, carrying an acrid, burnt quality to it that made Daffydd's attempt seem not so bad. As Arthur, Orlin and Erst approached the top of the ridge overlooking the clearing, they dropped low and crawled to the edge and peered over.

This was not a bandit camp. Or at least not like any Arthur had ever come across and he'd seen his fair share over time. His brow creased in confusion as he studied the camp with narrowed eyes. The child he'd heard, Arthur spotted near the cook-fire, wiping at a runny nose with his sleeve, free hand clutched by a woman who'd seen better days. Her hair was dishevelled, her dress torn and smeared with mud, hanging loosely off her frame like it had been made for someone much bigger. From the poor state of it, and the unhealthy pallor of her skin, it wasn't even a stretch to believe that it had been hers, only from a much healthier time. With a lurch Arthur recalled the witch who'd attacked him earlier and wondered if maybe she'd come from a situation like this. There were twenty others milling around in varying states of distress; only two other women among them. The rest were men with ages ranging from the very young to the very old. All had seen better days. The pot heating over the fire looked to contain no more than filthy laundry water that realistically must have been the food smell that still offended Arthur's nose with each brush of wind. The few huddled around with bowls in their laps sipped at their meagre offerings with hollow acceptance but clear distaste. Even one of Galahad's dishes was suddenly looking like a feast by comparison. What few tents they had were clustered together near a secondary fire. Little more than ragged sail cloths cast over hastily erected frames, Arthur couldn't imagine they were worth much against the bitter cold of the early hours of the morning and no help at all against the weather. About six men were laid about near the tents, the two woman moving from one man to the next and back, tending to foreheads and checking wounds under filthy bandages. He'd seen enough. He shared a look with his men and they slowly crept back down the ridge and once they'd moved a safe distance away, abandoned all stealth and made their way as quickly as it was safe to in the dark back to their own camp.

They met Kay, Pelleus and Liam just on the border of the forest and walked the rest of the way to camp in taut silence. It wasn't until they were firmly ensconced around their own fire that anyone spoke.

"They're refugees," Liam muttered, staring thoughtfully into the flames.

"That doesn't mean that they're not the bandits," Kay responded with a small shrug of his shoulder. Liam flicked his eyes up momentarily to regard Kay. Eventually conceding the point with a minute nod.

"They're not very good at it if that's the case," Erst rejoined brusquely.

Orlin snorted humourlessly, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a lopsided grin, "they certainly weren't revelling in any spoils from what I saw."

"Did anyone see any signs of sorcery or magic?" Arthur asked, cutting through the chatter. He didn't have to look to know that his party were shaking their heads in the negative. Kay and Liam were also indicating a no, but Pelleas hesitated. "What is it?" Arthur demanded. "Speak up."

Looking uncomfortable, Pelleas squirmed under the collective scrutiny of the group. "Well, it's not that I saw any magic per say, but I did notice that the child was being treated...deferentially? I suppose. I was wondering if maybe...I don't know, that maybe the child could have been the rumoured sorcerer." He looked unsure, hunching down into himself as if to avoid their gazes.

"Perhaps you're right, Pelleas," Arthur finally responded, his thoughts on the small Druid boy he'd once helped Morgana deliver from the city. He shook himself slightly and looked at each of his men in turn. "Be that as it may, this isn't a simple case of going in and rounding up thieves and brigands. Those people down there have no supplies, only rudimentary weaponry and no sense of organisation. My guess is that they've become desperate this close to winter and are attempting to steal from travellers merely to survive but I doubt that they're as successful as the report makes them out to be.

"For now, let's get some rest, we'll discuss ours plan at first light," _I need some time to think_, Arthur added to himself. His men nodded then retired to their shared tents. Arthur dismissed them all, taking first watch, grateful for the time to think things over in relative peace. He couldn't treat the situation as his father would have liked, even if they were the criminals described in the rumours. At times like this he would normally turn to Merlin for advice or some guidance - not that he'd ever admit it aloud. He hadn't realised how much he valued Merlin's opinion until this moment.

He could almost hear Merlin in his head, preaching on mercy and understanding and he chuckled fondly at the thought. He just hoped that Merlin would approve of his plan; his father certainly wouldn't but then his father wasn't known for his charitable nature.

The night was mostly quiet except for the sounds of nocturnal animals rustling through the undergrowth and the gurgle of the nearby creek a constant in the background. It was, however, cold. Bitingly so. Arthur drew his cloak tighter around him, shifting slightly near the fire. He'd kept it at his back so it wouldn't affect his night vision but it was hard not to turn around and warm his hands, which had gone stiff and tremulous. He contented himself with forcing them under his arms and continued his vigil, looking forward to when the next man would come and take his place.

The sky had turned ashen with pre-dawn light when Galahad sleepily dropped down next to him without a word and patted him on the shoulder, relieving Arthur of the watch. Arthur nodded in response and headed to his own private tent, collapsing bonelessly on the soft mound of furs, asleep with his boots still on.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, it's been...um years? I've actually been sitting on some new material for this story for a while and it's been edited, re-edited and then edited some more and as I was about to post it, edited one last time. So hopefully it hasn't been a disappointment.

I have also done some re-writes on the previous chapters, so there may be sections, which currently don't match with what I've already posted. I am in the process of updating that, so if you receive a lot of updates, sorry to disappoint you, but there won't be a new chapter, at least for a while.

I'd like to take the time to thank those people who've stuck with me over the years - considering how flaky I am - and also would like to ask that if you have any criticisms about my writing, _please tell me._ I want to continue to improve my ability and I can only do that if people tell me where I'm going wrong or even where I'm getting it awesomely right.

So typos, misused or misspelled words, missing punctuation, _too much_ punctuation, characterisation issues, timing, tempo, suspense, plot holes, et cetera, et cetera. All of it. If you have suggestions, I'm open to hearing them.

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter and I also hope that in future I am able to write more regularly. I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

He could tell by the slack jaws that the 'bandits' weren't expecting them. They'd waited till after sunset on the justification that traffic on the road would cease with the light and the camp they'd found yesterday would have settled in for the night. It had also given them time to prepare for this confrontation.

Some of the refugees wielded stripped branches like clubs, others had worn staffs that looked like they might have once been the handles of farm tools and one man had a blade that was so rusty and notched that Arthur was wary of it because if it wasn't sharp, it was at least septic. After the initial cries of shock the clearing stood in a tense silence, even the child remained quiet. Arthur surveyed each face around him. The men shifted nervously and the hands that held their makeshift weapons shook visibly. Very slowly he raised his empty palms.

"We bring you no harm," He said clearly, keeping his voice even. He turned his head to the right and his men moved up around him, carrying the game they'd hunted throughout the day as gifts. It wasn't as much as he'd have liked, but pickings had been slim; a down of hares and a wild pig, which Pelleas had slung over his shoulder. His men dropped their burden into a heap and backed up. It may not have been much, but it was a sore sight better than what these people had probably had in quite some time.

Silence reigned heavily in the clearing, no one moved. It seemed like they'd be poised on the knife's edge eternally; waiting for someone to move, to strike, or speak. The rustle of leaves drew everyone's attention to the young boy who'd been standing, shielded by the woman who might have been his mother as he gently pulled his hand free of her grasp and walked towards the knights with a slow but determined gait.

Very carefully, Arthur dismounted, inching his way down Caesar's flanks in an effort to preserve the unsteady truce by avoiding any sudden movements. Anything could have altered the situation at this point. One of his men, he didn't see who, grabbed a hold of Caesar's reins as Arthur moved forward to meet the small boy. He knelt a short distance from him and kept his face open, eyes wide and hopefully neutral, garnering surprised gasps from all.

The little boy wore a tattered and filthy shirt that hung below his knees, cinched at the waist with a worn leather belt doubled round his middle, the sleeves rolled up to accommodate his hands. And that appeared to be the sum of his attire. The boy stood barefoot and decorated almost head to toe with mud swiped, flecked and spattered over his skin and shirt. His carer had made some effort to at least keep his face clean, though leaves and the odd twig clung resolutely to his thick, curly mane and his nose had a smudge of dirt across the bridge.

The boy regarded Arthur with vivid green eyes that were almost impossibly wide and clear. Coupled with the fiery red of his hair, one could be forgiven for thinking they'd come across a wood sprite or pixie. Arthur would guess him to be around six years old, but still small for his age. However, his gaze felt centuries old and Arthur suppressed a shudder. He was in tentative agreement with Pelleas; this boy was special. Only one other person Arthur knew had the same intensity in their stare, but Merlin hid it well. He'd only ever shown Arthur that expression on rare occasions. And those were the times that Arthur would have to pause and wonder at the cause of it. Looking back, that gaze had always been accompanied by an abstract forewarning, an oddly intense farewell or some unexpected pearls of wisdom.

It made him wonder what Merlin saw when he widened his eyes like that.

The boy crossed those last few steps to Arthur who remained still but kept himself relaxed. Any sign of tension could be misconstrued as readiness for attack and Arthur was loathe to cause unnecessary conflict among these people. It was one of the most overwhelming moments of his life; it felt like the child was staring through him, seeing his faults, his weaknesses and all his deep. dark, and dirty secrets. He only hoped that the boy also witnessed the good in him. Never had it seemed so important to be considered worthy, not even by his father.

The boy raised his hands and gently brushed them across his cheeks and Arthur tried not to flinch at the grimy fingers that explored the planes of his face as it was tilted and admired from different angles. After long moments the boy seemed satisfied and nodded. He withdrew and turned his face to his people and nodded his assent a second time. The tension broke in the clearing as the boy's verdict was delivered. Tentative smiles crept over faces as the refugees offered their own nod in greeting while trying not to eye the game too ravenously. Arthur stood with relief, his knees stiff from being so long on the cold, sodden ground.

A man who looked about Sir Liam's age approached him, arm outstretched in greeting. Arthur gripped his forearm and inclined his head to him. "I'm Jameth," the man spoke brusquely but with an indomitable note of good cheer that Arthur found surprising given their situation. "No need to ask who you be, Sire. Come, you must all join us by the fire and share with us this bounty you've brought."

They needed no further invitation. Sir Orlin offered to assist in skinning and gutting the carcasses and dragged Erst along with him. Arthur sent Pelleas and Daffydd out to find any more firewood they could in the dwindling light. Liam and Kay found spots close to the fire and Galahad wandered off, talking among the men here and there. It was one of the enviable things about him - his uncanny ability to fit in to almost any crowd at any given moment. Arthur had not that ease, which Galahad possessed in abundance. Being raised to believe that you're better or different than the every man had that effect on a person, but he'd been learning to temper that part of himself, with Gwen's encouragement and Merlin's goading.

Jameth took the spot next to Arthur by the fire who watched the interactions among the refugees with interest. Jameth appeared to be the leader, if that was what you'd call it. The women and the younger men deferred to him, the older men, though, only sometimes listened to his orders and would choose what they would and wouldn't accede to. Jameth took it all in good grace with a half-smile that hinted at his amusement. He seemed to run the routines and chores of the camp, but for the larger, more important decisions and for spiritual advice, everyone deferred to the child who'd been introduced as Liriderreaneleth, or Lirin for short.

The men would approach Lirin one at a time, sit with him for awhile and talk extensively about their problems, their worries and their fears and Lirin would sit and listen silently. He never spoke, which Arthur found odd, but with a slight gesture, a nod, a brush of his fingers against the backs of their hands or shoulders, their faces would ease, brow relieved from their anxiety. He couldn't understand it; he even began to wonder if Lirin was mute, but no. When Jameth had asked loudly when they should move their camp next, Lirin climbed from the log that he'd sat perched on and whispered into Jameth's ear, throwing a neutral glance at Arthur, who watched the exchange with blatant interest.

There was something thrilling about helping the people he'd been sent to kill and even more so when the warm glow of good hearty stew had warmed their cheeks and brightened their spirits that seemed to inflate Arthur's chest. Looking at his men's faces as they chattered cheerfully with their new companions told him they supported his choice. Though it flew in the face of his father's orders, he'd made the right decision, the one that Merlin would have tried to hug him for. Arthur's smile dipped a little bit and despite sitting so close to the fire, with the warm press of bodies around him, Arthur drew his cloak about his shoulders and wrapped his arms around himself. It had only been a couple of days and already he was mooning after Merlin like a love-sick girl. He shook himself mentally and looked about the camp, reaffirming to himself the rightness of his actions.

The men who had lain injured the night before had been helped to sit among the others, though by head count, one hadn't made it through the night. The meat would do them some good, would hopefully fortify them for the time being and their spirits were up, which Arthur knew was half the battle when recovering from wounds and illness. Though no amount of good cheer could cure blood-rot. It was a sad fact that most of these men, even the ones who were currently uninjured would likely not last the winter, not unless they could find some shelter and that was a scarcity even in this so-called 'golden age'.

Arthur found his gaze drawn to Lirin and there was a knowing in his eyes that equally awed and frightened him. It was ridiculous, that a child should make him feel that way but there were many strange things in this world and surprisingly, Lirin wasn't the strangest thing Arthur had ever seen. Lirin returned his gaze unflinchingly and something in it made Arthur curious. Lirin wanted to tell him something, but it looked as if now was not the time. As if prompted by his thoughts, Galahad chose that moment to produce several wineskins filled with ale, pulling them from only god knew where with a loud "Ta da!" and was met with applause and a round of hurrahs.

"Where on earth did you get those?" Sir Liam demanded a glint of suspicion narrowing his gaze.

"Hey! I paid for it!" Galahad called back. "Most of it, anyway," he added in a mumble, much to the wicked delight of those close enough to hear. Liam rolled his eyes in response but poured a measure into his own cup before passing it onto the next man. And like - dare he say it - magic, a lute was produced and tuned and plucked and one of the women joined her voice with the instrument. She proceeded to sing one of the bawdiest barroom ballads Arthur had ever had the good- or ill-fortune of ever having heard and she sung it so sweetly that if you ignored the lyrics, it would have been one the most beautiful things he'd heard in a while. Morgana sounded like a wounded cat whenever she attempted to carry a tune.

The people from the camp clapped their hands and stamped their feet along with the music and it wasn't long before people were dancing, despite the lack of female partners. Even Arthur was coaxed to his feet by a little old man whose eyes were bright with mirth and not a small measure of ale. Arthur's faced burned red among the heckles and catcalls of his men, but he felt vindicated when they too were drawn into an energetic jig. Arthur nearly split his side laughing at the picture of Pelleus quite seriously waltzing with a youth who was staring at the knight with awe and admiration and maybe even a little bit of infatuation. The other two women who weren't singing were never short of partners and ended up retiring early from sheer exhaustion, but the smiles on their faces was worth any embarrassment Arthur had suffered twirling the old man about. Galahad had crashed almost as quickly as the women and the knights had each gone to their bedrolls sometime after that, leaving only a few to keep the campfire going. As each man gradually departed for their bedrolls, the songs became melancholic, the air filled with the tang of loss and regret but under it all was a thin sheen of hope. It wasn't long after that Arthur stumbled to his tent, dragging his feet as he went, yawning widely.

He collapsed heavily onto his furs and stared at the roof of his tent, light from the fire flickering over the canvas and though exhausted, found sleep elusive. He heard the last of the men retire and night crawl in about them and he turned from one side to the other as he waited for his mind to stop buzzing and offer him respite. It seemed like hours before his eyelids drifted shut and the moment they did he heard the crack of a twig underfoot - the sound of someone trying to move about quietly, shuffling through the camp. Alert, hand flying for his sword beside him, Arthur was on his hand and knees before he'd even fully awoken. He had no time to grumble but peeled aside his tent flap in time to see Lirin step over a prone, snoring body and weave delicately towards the tree-line surrounding the clearing. As the boy reached the edge of camp he looked back, directly at Arthur's tent, and laughter carried across the clearing, but not across the air. It was like it was in his head and it echoed between his ears oddly, sending a shiver down his spine. Lirin smiled eerily before he turned and vanished into the trees, a hand gesturing for Arthur to follow. Arthur stepped lightly, though quickly across the clearing narrowly missing fingers and side-stepping sprawled out limbs to arrive at the place that Lirin had disappeared.

He peered into the darkness but saw little under the feeble light of the moon. A mist was swirling about the forest floor, making visibility even poorer, but a glimpse of movement further ahead and the soft echo of laughter drew him forward.

With the practised ease of a seasoned hunter, Arthur navigated the terrain with little incident, spurred on by a flash of colour that stood out oddly bright against the dull world around them and the tantalising sound of laughter that pulled him back whenever he seemed to drift off course. It felt like an age he'd been stalking the boy; a small part of him was amazed he hadn't been able to catch sight of him yet. The sound of a brook painted the air and suddenly the laugh was aloud on the wind. Arthur cleared the trees and stumbled into a small clearing that presented him with the source of the water; it was trickling gently down a ridge, trapped in small pools surrounded by crumbling rocks before draining off into the creek that flowed through the centre of the clearing and meandered back through the forest in a direction Arthur had not yet been. Lirin was bent towards the rock wall, hand cupped to collect the water, which he brought to his mouth.

Arthur's breath puffed out in shallow pants as he fought to catch his wind. He almost missed the moment when Lirin turned while Arthur wiped his brow and nearly dropped his sword when suddenly the clearing was lit with two images. One of the little boy Lirin spinning on the spot to face him, and one of a tall spindly young man standing, laughing where Lirin stood.

Then the light faded and it was the man, not the boy that remained. The man laughed and the sound was deeper, more resonant than the voice he'd been following. Arthur fought to swallow and stood there, unsure of how to act. The man laughed again, then jumped, clearing the space between them as if they'd only been a step apart and floated across the distance. His eyes were a burning vivid green and his hair curled and grew like flame, wildly about his head. He was dressed in leaves and vines with a string of nuts about his neck in adornment and his smile was congenial and knowing. The saliva dried up in Arthur's mouth and he wanted to bring up his sword, but couldn't even manage to raise it, his wrist limp by his side.

"Lirin?" he croaked. The sound was almost offensive in the silence of the clearing. The man's smile grew wider and beneath his laugh was the sound of chimes. Around the clearing, the noise was answered by soft, high-pitched giggling and the sounds of rustling, like many tiny wings shaking with mirth.

"Liriderreaneleth, but it is somewhat of a mouthful, I suppose," the man - Lirin, replied warmly.

"Who-" Arthur managed to choke out before he was interrupted.

"More like what, actually. You could say I'm a pixie, an elf, or a woodland spirit, but I'm not...Not really." Lirin placed a finger thoughtfully on his pointed chin as he contemplated his own existence. "I guess the best word is demon."

Arthur's sword came up immediately at the word and he fell into a ready stance. Lirin laughed and jumped backwards, drifting back to the ground, out of the reach of his swing.

"Humans," Lirin tutted fondly. "I'm not evil, not a demon in the biblical sense. It's just how we refer to ourselves. Fine, consider me a grateful spirit." Arthur opened his mouth to ask, but sound never passed his lips. It seemed that this Lirin had been dying to talk this entire time and had only been waiting for the opportunity. Now he shushed Arthur with a gesture.

"I know you want to know, so I will tell. You don't have to ask and the faeries don't like the sound of human voices, at any rate. It hurts their ears," Lirin informed him, winking conspiratorially as if he'd shared a great secret. From the titter that came from the bushes it seemed as if he had. Lirin stared pointedly at Arthur's sword, and taking the hint, he slowly let it hang by his side. Lirin smiled indulgently at Arthur's hesitant compliance and then settled himself lightly on a rock. He gestured to the clearing like a host inviting his guest to find a seat in a drawing room and with a sigh, Arthur humoured the...spirit and found a log to sit on, laying his sword across his knees.

"This is my true form, what you see before you, and I am thousands of years old. Not the oldest by a long shot, but I've lived in these woods longer than humans have inhabited this land. I've seen species thrive, while others die and when humans first came, we demons or sprites or spirits - or whatever name you wish to call us by - we were like your gods. You worshipped us and we grew fat and powerful off your belief and in return, we taught you humans how to cultivate the land, to find nourishment from the forest and live in harmony with the world. Those first humans were the druids and they lived in harmony with us and with the wilds.

"But they were not the last to come. Others arrived and they brought with them their one god. They brought their different ways, their 'better' ways. Humans began to abuse the land, and lose touch with the magic we so generously offered and we spirits dwindled and became nothing more than whispers. The few druids who remained sustained the gods they worshipped and I suppose I should be thankful that I lasted so long, but in the end I could feel myself dying and never so swiftly as in these last few decades." Lirin paused and favoured Arthur with a meaningful look that he could not misconstrue. Since his father's arrival.

"I knew I was dying, so I thought, well why not. I'd live out my last days in a mortal shell; I'd walk among the humans and learn the 'wisdom' that had driven them from us, but I was weak - weaker than I had anticipated and the form you saw before was the result of all my efforts. And when I managed to create that form, I couldn't use it like I wanted to and I became lost and confused and sick, then injured.

"I was due a much earlier death than what I had planned. I'd expected to walk the world for many more decades to come, but there was little hope for me. Then they found me, that group of men and women and even though they had nothing to spare, they took me in and healed me and gave me shelter when they could scarce afford another mouth to feed. It reminded me of back when man first came to this land, filthy and crawling and weak and I realised why they had treated us like gods when we taught them how to walk.

"I felt worshipful and grateful and that is a feeling that is new to me." Lirin laughed and stood with a spring and a pirouette. "I am a demon or a spirit or a god or whatever, and we remember our debts, so I in turn helped them as I could, pointing them to water sweeter than any wine, showing them the plants which can help heal their wounds and putting their worries to rest if only for a fleeting moment. It's all that I could do in return.

"But they knew, somehow, that I wasn't really human, so they look to me a little like a god and every day I grow stronger. The stronger I get, the more I can help them and the more they worship me. It's an endless cycle. One day I will be strong enough that I won't need my mortal shell, but that day is far from now and only by moonlight can I manage to regain my true form." Lirin looked fondly at his own hands then laughed and danced, spun and pranced wonderingly around the clearing until he stood in front of Arthur, shining with an ethereal light that Arthur could only now perceive. If this had been any other time, he would have found it ridiculous, but that it seemed natural spoke well of the strangeness of the night. Lirin smiled down at Arthur and it was both condescending and sympathetic.

"Half those men will die this winter. I cannot stop illness and I cannot magically provide food, no matter how much I wish them to survive. Their survival means my own, after all; my actions aren't altruistic, but I care for these people and it hurts me to know that there is nothing that you or I can do to prevent their fate. What you did for them tonight meant so much to them, I don't think you can even begin to imagine how much, but it's not enough and that's not your fault. I will look after them as best I can. Know that, Arthur Pendragon. We magical creatures aren't the evil things you've been told to believe. Not all of us, anyway...

"I actually brought you here on another matter," Lirin said as he leaned in close. "Emrys."

Arthur raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, but sealed his mouth so as not to offend their eavesdroppers. Arthur had dutifully followed Lirin's story thus far, but now he'd lost him.

"Emrys. You know...Emrys?"

As if repeating the name would make things any clearer for him. Arthur huffed and glared.

"Oh, you know him by a different name. He's never far from your thoughts, I can see him so clearly in your mind... Merlin... you call him?" Arthur reared to his feet, startling Lirin, who nearly got hit in the chin by the crown of Arthur's head.

"Where?!" He almost shouted. the clearing filled with angry shrieks and the fluttering, rustling sound of leaves and many tiny wings. Arthur clicked his teeth shut and slowly the indignation around the clearing quietened.

"He isn't ready to be found yet, but you will find him when he is. I know you're not really one for it, but patience must be your watch-word. He is not what you think, Arthur Pendragon. He is not who he thinks he is. The one thing you need to know is that your fates are intertwined and you need each other.

"Now listen, my time is running short and when I'm in my mortal form I don't have the same knowledge and won't be able to aid you further. The journey to finding Emrys is one you must take alone. The knights, they accept you, but they won't understand him and he must not be put in more danger than he already finds himself. There's one last thing, Arthur Pendragon.

You have to wake up..."

"Arthur, Sire? It's morning." Arthur blinked his eyes open and stared at the roof of his tent, two different voices echoing in his head, one growing dimmer as he groggily blinked the sleep form his eyes. He groaned involuntarily and rolled over scrubbing at a head that ached, climbing to feet that were unexpectedly sore and running palms with unexplained scratches over his face. He'd been dreaming...maybe...

Already he felt the dream slipping from his mind like sand through his fingers. All he knew was that it had been vivid and strange, but he couldn't remember why. He pushed open the flap and was greeted by the miserable grey light of day and the temptation was so strong just to crawl back into his tent, roll himself up in his furs and stay there till the sun was well overhead. The faces he met were ashen and grief stricken and without having to ask, Orlant informed him that the old man he'd danced with the night before hadn't woken up. It was like a kick to the chest.

After several attempts to clear his throat, he ordered his men to dig a grave, which they set to, silently and without complaint. The camp was quiet except for the noises of labour and the people stood about, looking lost, deep in their own private thoughts.

Arthur learned that the man's name had been Phillip Weaver, but everyone had just called him Gammy. What little belongings the man had owned was divvied out among the camp. His blankets would be a blessing to any one of these men and women but the hole he'd left in their lives would only mend with time.

Gammy was laid in the soil and covered by midday, rocks placed atop the freshly turned earth and a crude cross was made from moss-covered ends of wood, tied together with twine. Arthur used his boot knife to score 'Gammy' onto the cross and the group stood and mourned silently, no prayer uttered aloud. Jameth stepped forward after some time had passed and his voice breaking around the words, said simply, "He died with a belly full of ale and a s-smile on his face. And there ain't no finer way to go." He wiped his face and stalked off ahead to the camp site, shoulders shaking. The rest followed at a more sedate pace.

Arthur and his men stayed to help break up the camp and promised to travel with them a ways. Erst remembered seeing an old abandoned farmhouse on the trip to the forest and everyone agreed - with Lirin's consent - that they would hold up there for the winter. Arthur took his men out to hunt for what they could as they slowly made their way through the forest, catching up to the group easily once they'd regained their mounts. They hadn't found a great deal, but it would do if the group managed to ration it well and supplement it with roots and whatever vegetation they were able to pick up along the way. At least with winter the meat would keep. Arthur left them with one of his finest crossbows and a few lessons for some of the younger lads on how to use it. It wouldn't be unheard of for wolves to come here, isolated as this farmhouse was from the the outlying villages. Pelleus surprised everyone when he unloaded hefty bundles of wood for kindling that he'd collected as they'd walked. Orlant offered up his whet stone, so any knife or blade could be kept relatively sharp. Galahad produced another two wineskins that had somehow come out unscathed from last night and told them to use it wisely. Liam, Kay, Erst and Daffydd each donated one of their own blankets and brooked no refusal.

"I wish there was more we could do..."Arthur murmured as around him, his knights readied their mounts for the ride back to Camelot. Jameth, Lirin and his guardian among others were there to see them off. The rest had stuck in to making the farmhouse halfway liveable again. It had fallen into a rather large state of disrepair, but the roof and walls were mostly secure, and though it was by no stretch a large space, at least it would keep the heat once they patched the holes.

Jameth reached his hand out and Arthur gripped his arm in response. "You've done so much, Sire, we can't thank you enough. If there was any way to return our gratitude, we would," he responded.

"There is one thing...no mugging passers-by, please, otherwise I might have to explain to my Father why I didn't kill the 'bandits'," Arthur said with an eye roll. It garnered a smile from Jameth and a sheepish duck of the head.

"We made horrible thieves, anyway. Much better farmers, we are. We'll get this place up to scratch, and make no mistake."

"You do that."

"It's a promise."

"It's been an honour," Arthur said by way of farewell, grasping Jameth's forearm companionably.

Jameth responded with, "the honour was ours." On impulse, Arthur leaned over and ruffled Lirin's hair. The young boy giggled and ducked his head, for once looking his age.

With final good-byes said Arthur and his men mounted up, their journey back towards Camelot begun and their hearts light with relief. They were headed home.

* * *

Magic filled him to the brim, poured out of him, searing every part of his body until he felt everything and nothing. He knew not night nor day but by the same token he was aware of every moment, every truth and every possibility. He witnessed the moment of his birth and of his father's and even the Great Dragon's hatching and he saw their deaths and every way in which it could eventuate. He watched as Arthur and his men made farewells to a group of bedraggled men and women, mounted their horses and headed south towards home. It was like he was a part of the soil, in every leaf of every tree; a voice upon the wind and in every mind of every creature, great and small. He lost track of himself; all he could do was give in and wait and hope that it would stop, while dreading the moment he would become deaf and blind to the wonders that he was being shown.

The last image he saw was a sword piercing Arthur's chest and knowing, without a moment of doubt that he would be destined to watch it happen and be completely unable to stop it. Just before he subsided into empty unconsciousness, a tear slipped down his cheek and an anguished cry escaped his throat. Then silence enshrouded him and darkness held him. His eyes closed and every thought dissolved.

He slept.


End file.
